Mother? Don't you know me?"

Mrs. Ericson put down the lamp. "You must be Nils. You
don't look very different, anyway."

"Nor you, Mother. You hold your own. Don't you wear
glasses yet?"

"Only to read by. Where's your trunk, Nils?"

"Oh, I left that in town. I thought it might not be
convenient for you to have company so near threshing-time."

"Don't be foolish, Nils." Mrs. Ericson turned back to the
stove. "I don't thresh now. I hitched the wheat land onto the
next farm and have a tenant. Hilda, take some hot water up to
the company room, and go call little Eric."

The tow-haired child, who had been standing in mute
amazement, took up the tea-kettle and withdrew, giving Nils a
long, admiring look from the door of the kitchen stairs.

"Who's the youngster?" Nils asked, dropping down on the
bench behind the kitchen stove.

"One of your Cousin Henrik's."

"How long has Cousin Henrik been dead?"

"Six years. There are two boys. One stays with Peter and