"You always was a glad boy, Joey," his mother said ruefully.

"Well, you wouldn't thought so if you seen me over at our house. It
seemed like there was somebody dead; I dasn't hardly go in, it was so dark
and still. Whyn't you there? Didn't pop come home?"

"Yes, but he had to go back to the Cross Roads; he's got work there all
the fall."

"Well! We do seem to be gittin' along!" He laughed again. "I reckon you
come over here because it seemed kind o' lonesome. Goin' to stay all night
with Uncle?"

"Yes. You won't mind being there alone?"

"Oh, no! Not much, I reckon."

"You can stay here too, if you want to--"

"Oh, no! Mom," he confessed shyly, "I brung Benny Hingston with me. I
thought you'd let him stay all night with me."

"Why, certainly, Joey--"

"He's just behind the house; I wanted to ask first--"

"You know you can always bring Benny. There's plenty of room for both of
you in your bed. But now when you go back with him be careful of the lamp.
I put a fresh piece of rag in and there's plenty of grease. You can blow
up a coal on the hearth. I covered the fire; only be careful."