There was a train at noon, and from his garage door he watched the Smith family start off across the lava rocks to the depot, each one laden with bundles and disreputable grips, the spotted dog trotting optimistically ahead of the party with his pink tongue draped over the right side of his mouth.

Smith turned, the baby in his arms, and called back casually to Casey: "Yuh better tie up them two milk goats when yuh milk 'em.

They won't stand if yuh don't." Casey's jaw sagged.

He had not thought of the goats.

Indeed, the last two days they had not troubled him except by their bleating at dawn.