Durgin。She’sdoneherpart，andshe’shadmorethanhershareofhardknocks。Ifshewastough，tosta’twith，she’shadblowsenoughtomellerher。Butthat’sthewayIaccountfortheboy。Is’pose——I’doughtn’ttofeelthewayIdoabouthim，buthe’ssuchapesttothewholeneighborhoodthathe’dhavethemostpop’la’fune’l。Well，IguessI’vesaidenough。I’mmuchobligedtoyou，though，Mr。——"
　　"Westover，"thepaintersuggested。"Buttheboyisn’tsobadallthetime。"
　　"Couldn’tbe，"saidWhitwell，withacackleofhumorousenjoyment。
　　"Hehashisspellsofbein’decent，andhe’spoottysmart，too。Butwhentheotherspellketcheshimit’slikeasifthedevilgota—holdofhim，asIsaidinthefirstplace。Ilostmywifeheretwo—threeyearsalongback，andthatlittlegirlyouseehimtormentin’，she’saregularlittlemothertoherbrother；andwheneverJeffDurginseesherwithhim，seemsasiftheOldScratchgotintohim。Well，I’mgladIdidn’tcomeacrosshimthatday。Howyougittin’alongwithLion’sHead？Setsquietenoughforyou？"Whitwellrosefromthestumpandbrushedtheclingingchipsfromhisthighs。"Folkstroubleyouany，lookin’on？"
　　"Notyet，"saidWestover。
　　"Well，thereain’tagreatmanyto，"saidWhitwell，goingbacktohisaxe。"Ishouldliketoseeyouworkin’someday。Do’knowasIeversawanattistatit。"
　　"Ishouldliketohaveyou，"saidWestover。"Anytime。"
　　"Allright。"Whitwellpulledhisaxeoutofthecarf，andstruckitinagainwithaforcethatmadeawide，squarechipleapout。HelookedoverhisshoulderatWestover，whowasmovingaway。"Say，stopinsometimeyou’repassin’。Iliveinthatwood—coloredhouseatthefootoftheDurgins’lane。"
　　VIII。
　　Inalittlesunkenplace，behindarock，somerodsaway，WestoverfoundJefflurkingwithhisdog，bothsilentandmotionless。"Hello？"hesaid，inquiringly。
　　"Comebacktoshowyoutheway，"saidtheboy。"Thoughtyoucouldn’tfinditalone。"
　　"Oh，whydidn’tyousayyou’dwait？"Theboygrinned。"Ishouldn’tthinkafellowlikeyouwouldwanttobeafraidofanyman，evenforthefunofscaringalittlegirl。"Jeffstoppedgrinningandlookedinterested，asifthiswasaviewofthecasethathadnotoccurredtohim。"Butperhapsyouliketobeafraid。"
　　"Idon’tknowasIdo，"saidtheboy，andWestoverlefthimtothequestionagreatpartofthewayhome。Hedidnotexpressanyregretorpromiseanyreparation。Butafewdaysafterthat，whenhehadbeguntoconvoypartiesofchildrenuptoseeWestoveratwork，inthelateafternoon，ontheirwayhomefromschool，andtoshowthepainterofftothemasasortoffamilyproperty，heoncebroughttheyoungWhitwells。
　　Heseemedonperfecttermswiththemnow，andwhenthecrowdoflargerchildrenhinderedthelittleboy’sviewofthepicture，Jeff，inhisqualityofhost，liftedhimunderhisarmsandheldhimupsothathecouldlookaslongasheliked。
　　ThegirlseemedashamedofthegoodunderstandingbeforeWestover。Jeffofferedtomakeaplaceforheramongtheotherchildrenwhohadlookedlongenough，butshepulledthefrontofherbonnetacrossherfaceandsaidthatshedidnotwanttolook，andcaughtherbrotherbythehandandranawaywithhim。Westoverthoughtthischarming，somewhat；helikedtheintenseshynesswhichthechild’sintensepassionhadhiddenfromhimbefore。
　　Jeffactedashosttotheneighborswhocametoinspectthepicture，andtheyallcame，withinacircuitofseveralmilesaround，andgavehimtheiropinionsfreelyorscantily，accordingtotheirseveraltemperaments。Theyweremainlyfavorable，thoughtherewassomefrankcriticism，too，spokenoverthepainter’sshoulderasopenlyasifhewerenotby。Therewasnoquestionbutoflikeness；allfinerfactswerefarfromthem；theywishedtoseehowgoodaportraitWestoverhadmade，andsomeofthemconsoledhimwiththesuggestionthatthelikenesswouldcomeoutmorewhenthepicturegotdry。
　　Whitwell，whenhecame，attemptedalargerviewoftheartist’swork，butapparentlymoreoutofkindnessforhimthanadmirationofthepicture。
　　Hesaidhepresumedyoucouldnotalwaysgetathinglikethatjustrightthefirsttime，andthatyouhadtokeeptryingtillyoudidgetit；butitpaidintheend。Jeffhadstolendownfromthehousewithhisdog，drawnbythefascinationwhichonewehaveinjuredalwayshasforus；
　　whenWhitwellsuddenlyturneduponhimandasked，jocularly，"Whatdoyouthink，Jeff？"theboycouldonlykickhisdoganddriveithome，asameansofhidinghisfeelings。
　　HebroughttheteachertoseethepicturethelastFridaybeforethepainterwentaway。Shewasacold—looking，austeregirl，prettyenough，witheyesthatwanderedawayfromtheyoungman，althoughJeffusedallhisartstomakeherfeelathomeinhispresence。ShepretendedtohavemerelystoppedonherwayuptoseeMrs。Durgin，andshedidnotventureanycommentonthepainting；but，whenWestoveraskedsomethingaboutherschool，sheansweredhimpromptlyenoughastothenumberandagesandsexesoftheschool—children。HeventuredsofartowardajokewithherastoaskifshehadmuchtroublewithsuchatoughsubjectasJeff，andshesaidhecouldbegoodenoughwhenhehadamind。Ifhecouldgetoverhisteasing，shesaid，withtheairofreadinghimalecture，shewouldnothaveanythingtocomplainof；andJefflookedashamed，butratherofthepraisethantheblame。Hishumiliationseemedcompletewhenshesaid，finally："He’sagoodscholar。"
　　OntheTuesdayfollowing，Westovermeanttogo。Itwastheendofhisthirdweek，andithadbroughthimintoSeptember。TheweathersincehehadbeguntopaintLion’sHeadwasperfectforhiswork；but，withthelongdrought，ithadgrownverywarm。Manytreesnowhadflamedintocrimsononthehill—slopes；theyellowingcorninthefieldsgaveoutathin，drysoundasthedelicatewindstirredtheblades；butonlythesoundsandsightswereautumnal。Theheatwasoppressiveatmidday，andatnightthecoldhadlostitsedge。Therewasnodew，andMrs。DurginsatoutwithWestoverontheporchwhilehesmokedafinalpipethere。
　　Shehadcometojoinhimforsomefixedpurpose，apparently，andshecalledtoherboy，"Yougotobed，Jeff，"asifshewishedtobealonewithWestover；themenfolkswerealreadyinbed；hecouldhearthemcoughnowandthen。
　　"Mr。Westover，"thewomanbegan，evenasshesweptherskirtsforwardbeforeshesatdown，"Iwanttoaskyouwhetheryouwouldletthatpictureofyoursgoonpartboard？I’llgiveyoubackjustasmuchasyousayofthismoney。"
　　Helookedroundandsawthatshehadinthehanddroppedinherlapthebillshehadgivenheraftersupper。
　　"Why，Icouldn’t，verywell，Mrs。Durgin——"hebegan。
　　"Ipresumeyou’llthinkI’mfoolish，"shepursued。"ButIdowantthatpicture；Idon’tknowwhenI’veeverwantedathingmore。It’sjustlikeLion’sHead，thewayI’veseenit，dayinanddayout，everysummersinceIcomeherethirty—fiveyearsago；it’sbeautiful！"
　　"Mrs。Durgin，"saidWestover，"yougratifymemorethanIcantellyou。
　　Iwish——IwishIcouldletyouhavethepicture。I——Idon’tknowwhattosay——"
　　"Whydon’tyouletmehaveit，then？Ifweeverhadtogoawayfromhere——ifanythinghappenedtous——it’stheonethingIshouldwanttokeepandtakewithme。There！That’sthewayIfeelaboutit。Ican’texplain；butIdowishyou’dletmehaveit。"
　　Someemotionwhichdidnotutteritselfinthedesiresheexpressedmadehervoiceshakeinthewords。Sheheldoutthebank—notestohim，andtheyrustledwiththetremorofherhand。
　　"Mrs。Durgin，IsupposeIshallhavetobefrankwithyou，andyoumustn’tfeelhurt。Ihavetolivebymywork，andIhavetogetasmuchasIcanforit——"
　　"That’swhatIsay。Idon’twanttobeatyoudownonit。I’llgiveyouwhateveryouthinkisright。It’smymoney，andmyhusbandfeelsjustasIdoaboutit，"sheurged。
　　"Youdon’tquiteunderstand，"hesaid，gently。"IexpecttohaveanexhibitionofmypicturesinBostonthisfall，andIhopetogettwoorthreehundreddollarsforLion’sHead。"
　　"I’vebeenaproperfool，"criedthewoman，andshedrewinalongbreath。
　　"Oh，don’tmind，"hebegged；"it’sallright。I’veneverhadanyofferforapicturethatI’drathertakethanyours。Iknowthethingcan’tbealtogetherbadafterwhatyou’vesaid。AndI’lltellyouwhat！I’llhaveitphotographedwhenIgettoBoston，andI’llsendyouaphotographofit。"
　　"Howmuchwillthatbe？"Mrs。Durginasked，asiftaughtcautionbyherofferforthepainting。
　　"Nothing。Andifyou’llacceptitandhangitupheresomewhereIshallbeveryglad。"
　　"Thankyou，"saidMrs。Durgin，andthemeekness，thewoundedpride，hefanciedinher，touchedhim。
　　Hedidnotknowatfirsthowtobreakthesilencewhichsheletfollowuponherwords。Atlasthesaid：
　　"Youspoke，justnow，abouttakingitwithyou。Ofcourse，youdon’tthinkofleavingLion’sHead？"
　　Shedidnotanswerforsolongatimethathethoughtshehadnotperhapsheardhimorheededwhathesaid；butsheanswered，finally："Wedidthinkofit。Thedayyoucomewehadaboutmadeupourmindstoleave。"
　　"Oh！"
　　"ButI’vebeenthinkin’ofsomethingsinceyou’vebeenherethatIdon’tknowbutyou’llsayisaboutaswildaswantin’tobuyathree—hundred—
　　dollarpicturewithaweek’sboard。"Shegaveashort，self—scornfullaugh；butitwasalaugh，anditrelievedthetension。
　　"Itmaynotbeworthanymore，"hesaid，gladoftherelief。
　　"Oh，Iguessitis，"sherejoined，andthenshewaitedforhimtoprompther。
　　"Well？"
　　"Well，it’sthis；andIwantedtoaskyou，anyway。Youthinkthere’dbeanychanceofmygettin’summerfolkstocomehereandboardifIwastoputanadvertisementinaBostonpaper？Iknowit’salonesomeplace，andthereain’twhatyoumaycallattractions。Butthefolksfromthehotels，sometimes，whentheyrideoverinastagetoseetheview，praiseupthescenery，andIguessitissightly。Iknowthatwellenough；andIain’tafraidbutwhatIcandoforboardersaswellassome，ifnotbetter。Whatdoyouthink？"
　　"Ithinkthat’sacapitalidea，Mrs。Durgin。"
　　"It’sthatorgo，"shesaid。"Thereain’talivin’forusonthefarmanymore，andwegottodosomethin’。IftherewasanythingelseIcoulddo！ButI’vethoughtitoutandthoughtitout，andIguessthereain’tanythingIcandobuttakeboarders——ifIcangetthem。"
　　"Ishouldthinkyou’dfinditratherpleasantonsomeaccounts。Yourboarderswouldbecompanyforyou，"saidWestover。
　　"We’recompanyenoughforourselves，"saidMrs。Durgin。"Iain’teverbeenlonesomehere，fromthefirstminute。IguessIhadcompanyenoughwhenIwasagirltolastmethesortthathotelfolksare。IpresumeMr。Whitwellspoketoyouaboutmyfather？"
　　"Yes；hedid，Mrs。Durgin。"
　　"Idon’tpresumehesaidanythingthatwa’n’ttrue。It’sallright。ButIknowhowmymotherusedtoslave，andhowIusedtoslavemyself；andI
　　alwayssaidI’dratherdoanythingthanwaitonboarders；andnowIguessIgottocometoit。Thesightofsummerfolksmakesmesick！IguessI
　　could’a’had’emlongagoifI’dwantedto。There！I’vesaidenough。"
　　Sherose，withasuddenliftofherpowerfulframe，andstoodamomentasifexpectingWestovertosaysomething。
　　Hesaid："Well，whenyou’vemadeyourmindup，sendyouradvertisementtome，andI’llattendtoitforyou。"
　　"Andyouwon’tforgetaboutthepicture？"
　　"No；Iwon’tforgetthat。"
　　Thenextmorninghemadereadyforanearlystart，andinhispreparationshehadthezealousandevenaffectionatehelpofJeffDurgin。Theboyseemedtowishhimtocarryawaythebestimpressionofhim，or，atleast，tomakehimforgetallthathadbeensinisterorunpleasantinhisbehavior。Theyhadbeengoodcomradessincethefirstevilday；theyhadbecomegoodfriendseven；andWestoverwastouchedbytheboy’sdevotionatparting。Hehelpedthepaintergethispacktogetheringoodshape，andhetookprideinstrappingitonWestover’sshoulders，adjustingandreadjustingitwithcare，andfasteningitsothatallshouldbesafeandsnug。Helingeredaboutattheriskofbeinglateforschool，asiftoseethelastofthepainter，andhewavedhishattohimwhenWestoverlookedbackatthehousefromhalfdownthelane。Thenhevanished，andWestoverwentslowlyontillhereachedthatcorneroftheorchardwheretheslantinggravestonesofthefamilyburial—groundshowedabovethelowwall。There，suddenly，astormburstuponhim。Theairrainedapples，thatstruckhimonthehead，theback，theside，andpeltedinviolentsuccessiononhisknapsackandcanvases，camp—stoolandeasel。Heseemedassailedbyfourorfiveskilfulmarksmen，whosemissilesalltold。
　　Whenhecouldlifthisfacetolookroundheheardashrill，accusingvoice，"Oh，JeffDurgin！"andhesawanotherstormofapplesflythroughtheairtowardthelittleWhitwellgirl，whododgedandranalongtheroadbelowandescapedinthedirectionoftheschoolhouse。Thentheboy’sfaceshoweditselfoverthetopofoneofthegravestones，allagrinwithjoy。HewaitedandwatchedWestoverkeepslowlyon，asifnothinghadhappened，andpresentlyheletsomeapplesfallfromhishandsandwalkedslowlybacktothehouse，withhisdogathisheels。
　　WhenWestoverreachedtheleveloftheroadandtheshelterofthewoodsnearWhitwell’shouse，heunstrappedhisloadtoseehowmuchharmhadbeendonetohispicture。Hefounditunhurt，andbeforehehadgottheburdenbackagainhesawJeffDurginleapingalongtheroadtowardtheschool—house，whirlinghissatchelofbooksabouthisheadandshoutinggaylytothegirl，nowhiddenbythebushesattheotherendofthelane：
　　"Cynthy！Oh，Cynthy！Waitforme！Iwanttotellyousomething！"
　　IX。
　　Westover，receivednextspringthecopyforanadvertisementfromMrs。
　　Durgin，whichsheaskedtohavehimputinsomepaperforher。ShesaidthathersonJacksonhadwrittenitout，andWestoverfounditsowellwrittenthathehadscarcelytochangethewording。Itofferedthebestoffarm—board，withplentyofmilkandeggs，berriesandfruit，forfivedollarsaweekatLion’sHeadFarm，anditclaimedforthefarmthemeritofthefinestviewofthecelebratedLion’sHeadMountain。Itwassigned，asherletterwassigned，"Mrs。J。M。Durgin，"withherpost—
　　officeaddress，anditgaveWestoverasareference。
　　Theletterwasinthesamehandwritingastheadvertisement，whichhetooktobethatofJacksonDurgin。ItenclosedadollarnotetopayforthreeinsertionsoftheadvertisementintheeveningTranscript，anditended，almostcasually："Idonotknowasyouhaveheardthatmyhusband，JamesMonroeDurgin，passedtospiritlifethisspring。Mysonwillhelpmetorunthehouse。"
　　ThisdeathcouldnotmoveWestovermorethanithadapparentlymovedthewidow。Duringthethreeweekshehadpassedunderhisroof，hehadscarcelyexchangedthreewordswithJamesMonroeDurgin，whoremainedtohimanimpressionoflarge，round，dull—blueeyes，astubblyupperlip，andcheeksandchintaggedwithcoarse，hay—coloredbeard。Theimpressionwassolargelytheimpressionthathehadkeptofthedull—
　　blueeyesandthegaunt，slantedfigureofAndrewJacksonDurginthathecouldnotbeverydistinctinhissenseofwhichwasnowthepresenceandwhichtheabsence。Heremembered，withaneffort，thattheson’sbeardwasstraw—colored，buthehadtomakenoefforttorecalltherobusteffectofMrs。Durginandheryoungestson。Hewonderednow，ashehadoftenwonderedbefore，whethersheknewofthefinalviolencewhichhadavengedtheboyfortheprolongedstrainofrepressionJeffhadinflicteduponhimselfduringWestover’sstayatthefarm。Afterseveralimpulsestogobackandbeathim，tofollowhimtoschoolandexposehimtotheteacher，towritetohismotherandtellherofhismisbehavior，Westoverhaddecidedtodonothing。Ashehadcomeoffunhurtinpersonandproperty，hecouldaffordtobemoregenerouslyamusedthanifhehadsuffereddamageineither。Themorehethoughtoftheincident，themorehewasdisposedtobelenientwiththeboy，whomhewasawareofhavingbaffledandsubduedbyhissuperiorwitandvirtueinperhapsintolerablemeasure。Hecouldnotquitemakeoutthatitwasanactofbadfaith；
　　therewasnoreasontothinkthatthegood—naturedthingsthefellowhaddone，theconstantlittleofficesofzealandfriendliness，werelesssincerethanthisviolentoutbreak。
　　TheletterfromLion’sHeadFarmbroughtbackhisthreeweeksthereveryvividly，andmadeWestoverwishhewasgoingthereforthesummer。ButhewasgoingovertoFranceforanindefiniteperiodofworkintheonlyairwherehebelievedmodernmenweredoinggoodthingsintherightway。
　　HeWasaleinthewinter，andhehadsoldpicturesenoughtoprovidethemeansforthissojournabroad；thoughhislion’sHeadMountainhadnotbroughtthetwohundredandfiftyorthreehundreddollarshehadhopedfor。Itbroughtonlyahundredandsixty；butthetimehadalmostcomealreadywhenWestoverthoughtitbroughttoomuch。Now，theletterfromMrs。Durginremindedhimthathehadneversentherthephotographofthepicturewhichhehadpromisedher。Heencasedthephotographatonce，andwrotetoherwithmanyavowalsofcontritionforhisneglect，andstrongregretthathewasnotsoontoseetheoriginalofthepaintingagain。Hepaidadecentreverencetothebereavementshehadsuffered，andhesenthisregardstoall，especiallyhiscomradeJeff，whomheadvisedtokeepoutoftheapple—orchard。
　　FiveyearslaterWestovercamehomeinthefirstweekofagaspingAugust，whosehotbreaththickenedroundtheCunarderbeforeshegothalf—wayuptheharbor。Hewaitedonlytoseehispicturesthroughthecustom—house，andthenheleftforthemountains。ThemountainsmeantLion’sHeadforhim，andeighthoursafterhewasdismountingfromthetrainatastationontheroadwhichhadbeenpushedthroughonanewlinewithinfourmilesofthefarm。ItwascalledLion’sHeadHousenow，ashereadonthesideofthemountain—wagonwhichhesawwaitingattheplatform，andheknewataglancethatitwasJeffDurginwhowascomingforwardtomeethimandtakehishand—bag。
　　Theboyhadbeentheprophecyofthemaninevenadisappointingdegree。
　　Westoverhadfanciedhimgrowinguptotheheightofhisfatherandbrother，butJeffDurgin’sstalwartframewasnotableforstrengthratherthanheight。Hecouldnothavebeentallerthanhismother，whosestaturewasabovethestandardofhersex，buthewasmassivewithoutbeingbulky。Hischestwasdeep，hissquareshouldersbroad，hispowerfullegsborehimwithabackwardbulgeofthecalvesthatshowedthroughhisshapelytrousers；hecaughtupthetrunksandthrewthemintothebaggage—wagonwithaswellingofthemusclesonhisshort，thickarmswhichpulledhiscoat—sleevesfromhisheavywristsandbroad，shorthands。
　　HehadgivenoneofthesetoWestovertoshakewhentheymet，butwithsomethingconditionalinhiswelcome，andwithalookwhichwasnotsomuchfurtiveaslatent。Thethatchofyellowhairheusedtowearwasnowcroppedclosetohisskull，whichwasasortofdun—color；andithadsomedropsofsweatalongthelighteredgewherehishathadshadedhisforehead。HeputhishatontheseatbetweenhimselfandWestover，anddroveawayfromthestationbareheaded，tocoolhimselfafterhisboutwiththebaggage，whichwasfollowingmoreslowlyinitswagon。Therewasagooddealofit，andtherewerehalfadozenpeople——women，ofcourse——goingtoLion’sHeadHouse。WestoverclimbedtotheplacebesideJefftoletthemhavetheothertwoseatstothemselves，andtohaveachanceoftalking；buttheladieshadtobequietedintheirseveralanxietiesconcerningtheirbaggage，andthelettersandtelegramstheyhadsentabouttheirrooms，beforetheysettleddowntoanexchangeofapprehensionsamongthemselves，andleftJeffDurginfreetolistentoWestover。
　　"Idon’tknowbutIoughttohavetelegraphedyouthatIwascoming，"
　　Westoversaid；"butIcouldn’trealizethatyouweredoingthingsonthehotelscale。Perhapsyouwon’thaveroomforme？"
　　"Guesswecanputyouup，"saidJeff。
　　"Nochanceofgettingmyoldroom，Isuppose？"
　　"Ishouldn’twonder。Ifthere’sanyoneinit，Iguessmothercouldchange’em。"
　　"Isthatso？"askedWestover，withalikingforbeingliked，whichhistoneexpressed。"Howisyourmother？"
　　Jeffseemedtothinkamomentbeforeheanswered：
　　"Justexactlythesame。"
　　"Alittleolder？"
　　"NotasIcansee。"
　　"Doesshehatekeepingahotelasbadlyassheexpected？"
　　"That’swhatshesays，"answeredJeff，withatwinkle。Allthetime，whilehewastalkingwithWestover，hewasbreakingouttohishorses，whichhegovernedwithhisvoice，trottingthemuphillanddown，andwalkingthemontheshort，infrequentlevels，inthemountainfashion。
　　Westoveralmostfearedtoask："AndhowisJackson？"
　　"First—rate——thatis，forhim。He’saswellaseverhewas，Iguess，andhedon’tappearadayolder。You’vechangedsome，"saidJeff，withalookroundatWestover。
　　"Yes；I’mtwenty—ninenow，andIwearaheavierbeard。"WestovernoticedthatJeffwascleanshavedofanysignofanapproachingbeard，andartisticallyherejoicedinthefellow’syoung，manlybeauty，whichwasveryregularandsculpturesque。"You’reabouteighteen？"
　　"Nearernineteen。"
　　"IsJacksonasmuchinterestedintheotherworldasheusedtobe？"
　　"Spirits？"
　　"Yes。"
　　"IguesshekeepsitupwithMr。Whitwell。Hedon’tsaymuchaboutitathome。Hekeepsallthebooks，andhelpsmotherrunthehouse。Shecouldn’tverywellgetalongwithouthim。"
　　"Andwheredoyoucomein？"
　　"Well，Ilookafterthetransportation，"saidJeff，withanodtowardhishorses——"whenI’mathome，thatis。I’vebeenattheAcademyinLovewellthelastthreewinters，andthatmeansagoodpieceofthesummer，too，firstandlast。ButIguessI’llletmothertalktoyouaboutthat。"
　　"Allright，"saidWestover。"WhatIdon’tknowabouteducationisn’tworthknowing。"
　　Jefflaughed，andsaidtotheoffhorse，whichseemedtoknowthathewasmeant："Getup，there！"
　　"AndCynthia？IsCynthiaathome？"Westoverasked。
　　"Yes；they’realldowninthelittlewood—coloredhouseyet。Cynthiateacheswinters，andsummersshehelpsmother。Shehaschargeofthedining—room。"
　　"DoesFrankycryasmuchasever？"
　　"No，Frank’safineboy。He’sinthehouse，too。Kindofbell—boy。"
　　"Andyouhaven’tworkedMr。Whitwellinanywhere？"
　　"Well，hetalkstotheladies，andtakespartiesof’emmountain—
　　climbing。Iguesswecouldn’tgetalongwithoutMr。Whitwell。Hetalksreligionto’em。"HecastamockingglanceatWestoveroverhisshoulder。"Womenseemtolikereligion，whethertheybelongtochurchornot。"
　　Westoverlaughedandasked："AndFox？How’sFox？"
　　"Well，"saidJeff，"wehadtogiveFoxaway。Hewasalwayscrosswiththeboarders’children。MybrotherwasonfromColorado，andhetookFoxbackwithhim。"
　　"Ididn’tsuppose，"saidWestover，"thatIshouldhavebeensorrytomissFox。ButIguessIshallbe。"
　　Jeffseemedtoenjoytheimplicationofhiswords。"Hewasn’tabaddog。
　　Hewasstupid。"