Quill's Window

young man, squinting at his wristwatch and making out

t. He was occasionally interrupted by various members of the little group on the front porch of the big old farmhouse, the interruption invariably taking the form of a conjecture concerning the significance of certain signs ordinarily infallible in denoting the approach of rain. Heat lightning had been playing for an hour or more in the gloomy west; a tree-toad in a nearby elm w

ound to get what you're askin' for. Works the same way when you're prayin' for it to stop rainin'. My grandfather once pra

relate the history of Quill's Window. Old Caleb Brown was the father of Mrs. Vick,-Lucin

cious girl, interested only in the young man from the far-off, mysterious city in the East; his son Caleb, a rugged youth of nineteen; Mrs. Vick, and a neighbour named W

there in the Windom h

," explained Mr. Brown, a

arm, but she ain't, you bet. That's where she's smart. She's got sense enough to know she don't know anything about running a farm, and while she puts on a lot

at I do," repli

r granddad, he must have been a purty hard customer to deal with, but, by ginger, if he w

e, "because Mr. Bagley got the best of

" groaned Mr. Vick. "I never mention Jim Bagley's name but what you up

oing to tell Mr. Thane about that ho

egins to insinuate th

got the worst of it, A

. "I only say that h

t don't come

broke in Mr. White. He was referring to the weather. "That ain't all he

h the war,-long before we went in,-she was up in town working for the Belgiums, and then, when we did go in, she went East some'eres to learn how to

ve ten thousand dollars and Josie Fiddler says it

all right," said you

lot of people a

lained Rosabel. "She's five years older t

at out," gr

oking?" inquire

uite as tall as she

," said old Caleb Brown, shift

out horses, father,"

was?" deman

aid Rosabel, somewhat grudgingly. "And sh

e five foot seven or eight, but you ain't skinny like she is. She'd ought to weigh about a

that skinny," r

rseback," said old Caleb, justifying his observation. "Ride

when she's riding, although I must say I don't think it's very modest. I never

f that, Ma," interrupted

you know it, Cale Vick," cri

abruptly chang

e thunder, didn't it? And that tree-toad has stopped signallin',-that's a sure

t an umbere

hat. Sometimes that'll bring rain out of a clear sky,-that an' a Sunday-school picnic. It's a pity we couldn't have got up a Sunday-school picnic,-but then, of course, that wouldn't have done any good. You can't fool a rainstorm. So long, Amos. Ni

eight, M

been dead-how l

hen I was

nd all the rest of 'em up in the family burying-ground," was Mr. White's con

young Caleb, his eyes gleaming in the faint light from the open door. "I gue

place. That's why I left it in New York. Mother likes to look at it occasionally. Mothers are queer creatures, you kno

d, ardour in her wide, young eyes. "If I was a boy and

told 'em I was only a little more than fifteen,"

p at Chattanooga during the Spanish War, and almost died of typhoid, Courtney. And when I think of the way our boys died by the milli

f the flu, so what's the sense of worryin' about it now? He didn't even ket

efensively, and then comp

e war." This from the adoring Rosabel. "I wish you'd tell us more about your experiences. They must have been terrible. You never talk about t

n't over there to fight, yo

s for if you weren't fight

ply going out and getting a wounded man or two in No-

dangerous?" a

erently. He even yawned. "I'd rather talk about Alix the

aid Rosabel shortly.

ng were you up at th

e where there wasn't much fighting. Just before the first big Verdun dr

?" exclaimed young Cale

ed to work forty-eight hours at a stre

the shells eve

about fifty feet ahead of my car, and before I could stop we ran plunk into the hole it

domville belonged to him,-still belongs to Alix Crown,-and there's a three mile railroad connecting with the main line over at Smith's Siding. Every foot of it is on his land. He built the railroad about twenty year ago,

all of it,-farms, ranch,

t a sign of a mortgage on any of it, either. I

gassed, Mr. Thane?"

the air service,-only a few

wings at home,

the only wings I'll probably

t into the British air corpse, 'stead

le lot of rubbish like that. It's no wonder the American Air Service was punk. I went over to Toronto and they took me like a shot in the Royal British. They weren't so blamed finicky and o

gs, Court," remarked Amos Vick. "It's purty diff

, even though I did serve under the British

gs, don't it?" i

ur months. It took a lot more nerve to draw a breath then than it did to fly over the German lines with the

'd had pneumonia twice since you got back,

o and have a bout with typhoid. I ought to be dead, with all I've had,-but here I am, alive and h

, and I feel a kind of responsibility for you. I guess it's about time you was off to bed. Come

e didn't up and hire another one. One of your grandpa's brothers skipped off to Canada so's he wouldn't have to serve, and the other,-his name was George Washington Thane, by the way,-accidentally shot two of his fingers off while his company was in camp down at Crawfordsville, gettin' ready to go down and meet Morgan's Riders,-and that let him out. I admit it takes right smart of courage to accidentally shoot your fingers off, specially when nobody is lookin', but at any rate he had a uniform on when he done it. Course, there wasn't any wars during your pa's da

eing scared half out of my boots. But I wasn't alone in that, you see. I never knew a man over there

," cried

got a German?" asked the intense young

see,-we fellows up in the clouds. I was in a bombing

posed Mrs. Vick. "I don't want to hear an

rom his rocking-chair and turning it

bottom-side up when rain's needed? Turn it right-side up and put it right out here in front again where the rain can get at it. Nothin' tick

smoking of three cigarettes. Presently he was stretched out on the bed without even so much as a sheet over him. The heat was

uch of a fighter either. Takes more than two generations to wipe out a yellow st