CHAPTER XI.
"John," said the old mother, from the profound mufflings of the pillow and quilts.
"What ?" said the old man.

He was tugging at his right boot, and his tone was very irascible.
"I think William's changed a good deal." "Well, what if he has ?" replied the father, in another burst of ill-temper.

He was then tugging at his left boot.
"Yes, I'm afraid he's changed a good deal," said the muffled voice from the bed.

"He's got a good many fine friends, now, John--folks what put on a good many airs; and he don't care for his home like he did." "Oh, well, I don't guess he's changed very much," said the old man cheerfully.

He was now free of both boots.
She raised herself on an elbow and looked out with a troubled face.
"John, I think he likes that girl." "What girl ?" said he.
"What girl?
Why, that awful handsome girl you see around--of course." "Do you think he likes 'er ?" "I'm afraid so--I'm afraid so," murmured the mother mournfully.
"Oh, well," said the old man, without alarm, or grief, or pleasure in his tone.
He turned the lamp's wick very low and carried the lamp to the head of the stairs, where he perched it on the step.