"I don't see how you did it, Nils. Not many fellows could."
Eric rubbed his shoulder against his brother's knee.

"The hard thing was leaving home you and father. It was easy
enough, once I got beyond Chicago. Of course I got awful homesick;
used to cry myself to sleep. But I'd burned my bridges."

"You had always wanted to go, hadn't you?"

"Always. Do you still sleep in our little room? Is that
cottonwood still by the window?"

Eric nodded eagerly and smiled up at his brother in the grey
darkness.

"You remember how we always said the leaves were whispering
when they rustled at night? Well, they always whispered to me
about the sea. Sometimes they said names out of the geography
books. In a high wind they had a desperate sound, like someone
trying to tear loose."

"How funny, Nils," said Eric dreamily, resting his chin on his
hand. "That tree still talks like that, and 'most always it talks
to me about you."

They sat a while longer, watching the stars. At last Eric
whispered anxiously: "Hadn't we better go back now? Mother will
get tired waiting for us." They rose and took a short cut home,
through the pasture.