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。"
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