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UNDAY was Claude’s last day at home, and he took a long walk with Ernest and Ralph. Ernest would have preferred to lose Ralph, but when the boy was out of the harvest field he stuck to his brother like a burr. There was something about Claude’s new clothes and new manner that fascinated him, and he went through one of those sudden changes of feeling that often occur in families. Although they had been better friends ever since Claude’s wedding, until now Ralph had always felt a little ashamed of him. Why, he used to ask himself, wouldn’t Claude “spruce up and be somebody?” Now, he was struck by the fact that he was somebody.

On Monday morning Mrs. Wheeler wakened early, with a faintness in her chest. This was the day on which she must acquit herself well. Breakfast would be Claude’s last meal at home. At eleven o’clock his father and Ralph would take him to Frankfort to catch the train. She was longer than usual in dressing. When she got downstairs Claude and Mahailey were already talking. He was shaving in the washroom, and Mahailey stood watching him, a side of bacon in her hand.

“You tell ’em over there I’m awful sorry about them old women, with their dishes an’ their stove all broke up.”

“All right. I will.” Claude scraped away at his chin.

She lingered. “Maybe you can help ’em mend their things, like you do mine fur me,” she suggested hopefully.

“Maybe,” he murmured absently.