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Milne hesitated, still holding his bag, but the tone had been so arbitrary that, considering that the man might have some other immediate task before the meal, he turned back toward the house, walking over a series of long, warped boards under the edges of which grass grew. The surface of the yard was sparsely green in places, where vegetation had survived the trampling of mud in the spring.

The screen-door under the porch was open, a wood-burning range hummed cheerily, and there were steps from another room. 'Shoo! Scat out of here!' A black cat sped before her, but Mrs. Hymerson, compared with her husband, was ceremonial in her reception. She wore a white shirt waist with high collar, and a black-pleated skirt.

'Why, how do you do; you're quite a stranger, Richard. But I suppose I should call you Mr. Milne. I thought, you know, I heard Carson talking to somebody, but I couldn't just be sure. You must stay for tea. How's——' She seemed to recall that he lived apart from relatives, that he had no near ones. 'How's everything in the city? It must be hot there! Well! It's nice to have you come back and see us.' She nodded.