Kent nudged Jot delightedly.  They were entering a quaint, old-fashioned room, and at the further end on a hair-cloth settle lay a withered morsel of an old man.  His sun-browned face made a shriveled spot of color against the pillows.

“That’s pa,” the little old lady said, by way of introduction.  “He was took yesterday, out in the field.  It was dretful hot—­an’ the hay ’most in, too.  He’s frettin’ because he couldn’t ’ve waited a little mite longer, ain’t you, pa?  I tell him if the boys was here—­” She broke off with a quiver in her thin, clear voice.  Pa, on the couch, put out his hand feebly and smoothed her skirt.

“We had three boys—­ma an’ me,” he explained quietly.  “That’s why ma was so quick to take you in, I guess.  They was all little shavers like you be.”

“Yes, jest little shavers,” said ma, softly.  “They hadn’t got where I couldn’t make over ’em an’ tuck ’em in nights, when they was took away—­ all in one week.  You wouldn’t have thought ’twould have be’n all in one week—­three boys—­would you?  Not three!  I tell pa the Lord didn’t give us time enough to bid ’em all good-by.  It takes so long to give up three!”

Old Tilly and the others stood by in odd embarrassment.  Jot was bothered with a strange sensation in his throat.

But the old lady’s sorrowing face brightened presently.  She bustled about the room busily, getting out chairs and setting straight things crooked in her zeal.

“I guess you’re hungry, ain’t you?  Boys always is—­an’ three boys!  Dear! how hungry three boys can be!  I’m goin’ out to get supper.  Pa, you must do the entertainin’.”

The bread was “just like mother’s”—­white with a delicious crust—­and the butter yellow as gold, and Jot helped himself plentifully.  “Ma,” behind the tea urn, watched him with a beaming face.

“That’s right!—­I love to see boys eat!  I tell pa sometimes I can just see our three boys settin’ at this table eatin’ one of ma’s good meals o’ victuals.  You must have some of this custard, Joey.”  A faint essence of added tenderness crept into the wistful old voice at that name.  The boys knew that Joey had been the little old lady’s baby.

“Joey was a great hand for custard.  Joey was a master hearty boy.”

After supper, the boys wandered out around the tiny farm.  It was at best a rocky, uneven place, but there were evidences of “pa’s” hard work on it.  Most of the grass had been mowed and carried into the barn, but there was one small field still dotted over with cocks of overripe hay.  Old Tilly strode over and examined it with an air of wisdom.

“Too ripe,” he commented.  “I guess it won’t be worth getting in, if it stays out here much longer.”

“He meant to have it all in yesterday—­she said he did.  I mean that little old lady said so,” Jot remarked.

“Well, if it isn’t all in to-morrow, it’s a goner,” Old Tilly said decisively.