His grandmother threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. Her cheek
was wet.

"Good-night, Albert," she said chokingly, and hurried out of the room.

He undressed quickly, for the room was very cold. He opened the window,
after a desperate struggle, and climbed into bed. The wind, whistling
in, obligingly blew out the lamp for him. It shrieked and howled about
the eaves and the old house squeaked and groaned. Albert pulled the
comforter up about his neck and concentrated upon the business of going
to sleep. He, who could scarcely remember when he had had a real home,
was desperately homesick.

Downstairs in the dining-room Captain Zelotes stood, his hands in his
pockets, looking through the mica panes of the stove door at the fire
within. His wife came up behind him and laid a hand on his sleeve.

"What are you thinkin' about, Father?" she asked.

Her husband shook his head. "I was wonderin'," he said, "what my
granddad, the original Cap'n Lote Snow that built this house, would have
said if he'd known that he'd have a great-great-grandson come to live in
it who was," scornfully, "a half-breed."

Olive's grip tightened on his arm.

"Oh, DON'T talk so, Zelotes," she begged. "He's our Janie's boy."

The captain opened the stove door, regarded the red-hot coals for an
instant, and then slammed the door shut again.