To-night it rode with them.
Three months in that little, rough-walled hut had lent it an atmosphere of home, which a man instinctively responds to with a certain clinging affection, however crude may be the shelter he calls his own.

Cash secretly regretted the thirsty death of his radishes and lettuce which he had planted and tended with such optimistic care.

Bud wondered if Daddy might not stray half-starved into the shack, and find them gone.
While they were there, he had agreed with Cash that the dog must be dead.

But now he felt uneasily doubtful It would be fierce if Daddy did come back now.

He would starve.