engine was heard. Lynn would be coming in. They watched the young man
swing his car out into the road and glide away like a comet with a wild
sophisticated snort of his engine that sent him so far away in a flash.
They watched the girl standing where he had left her, a stricken look
upon her face, and saw her turn slowly back to the house with eyes
down--troubled. The mother moved away. The father bent his head upon
his hand with closed eyes. The girl came back to her work, but the song
on her lips had died. She worked silently with a far look in her eyes,
trying to fathom it.

The eyes of her father and mother followed her tenderly all that day,
and it was as if the souls of the three had clasped hands, and
understood, so mistily they smiled at one another.

Billy Gaston, refreshed by a couple of chocolate fudge sundaes, a
banana whip, and a lemon ice-cream soda, was seated on the bench with
the heroes of the day at the Monopoly baseball grounds. He wore his
most nonchalant air, chewed gum with his usual vigor, shouted himself
hoarse at the proper places, and made casual grown-up responses to the
condescension of the team, wrapping them tenderly in ancient sweaters
when they were disabled, and watching every move of the game with a
practised eye and an immobile countenance. But though to the eyes of
the small fry on the grass at his feet he was as self-sufficient as
ever, somehow he kept having strange qualms, and his mind kept
reverting to the swart fat face of Pat at the Junction, as it ducked
behind the cypress and talked into the crude telephone on the mountain.
Somehow he couldn't forget the gloat in his eye as he spoke of the
"rich guy." More and more uneasy he grew, more sure that the expedition
to which he was pledged was not strictly "on the square."