Soon it would be evening and the frogs would begin again, the frogs and
whippoorwills. The valley, just as Hannah had said, was lonely. He
stirred and later found himself some supper--in the kitchen where
everything was new.

On the following morning he left the Greenstream settlement; it was
Friday, and Monday he returned with Ettie, his sister. She was
remarkably like him--tall and angular, with a gaunt face and steady
blue eyes. Older than Calvin, she had settled into a complete
acquiescence with whatever life brought; no more for her than the
keeping of her brother's house. Calvin, noting the efficient manner in
which she ordered their material affairs, wondered at the fact that she
had not been married. Men were unaccountable, but none more than
himself, with his unquenchable longing for Hannah.

This retreated to the back of his being. He never spoke of her. Indeed
he tried to put her from his thoughts, and with a measure of success.
But it never occurred to him to consider any other girl; that
possibility was closed. Those he saw--and they were uniformly kind,
even inviting--were dull after Hannah.

Instead he devoted himself to the equivalent, in his undertakings, of
Ettie's quiet capability. The following year a small number of the
steers grazing beyond the road were his; in two years more Senator
Alderwith died, and there was a division of his estate, in which Calvin
assumed large liabilities, paying them as he had contracted. The timber
in Sugarloaf Valley drew speculators--he sold options and bought a
place in the logging development.