THE CANOPY BED
said slowly, and after that there was a startled silence. And then she went away.
As he passed the sitting-room on his way up-stairs, he looked in, and spoke to Otto Brand.
More than any of the other brothers, Otto typified strength and beauty, but in his eyes was never a dream, his brain had mastered nothing. He was playing idly with the yellow cat, but he stopped at Van Alen's question.
"Her great-grandfather and yours were neighbors," the boy said, with his cheeks flushing; "they own the next farm."
"The Wetherells?" Van Alen inquired.
The boy nodded. "They ain't got a cent. They're land poor. That's why she's here. But she don't need to work."
"Why not?"
"There's plenty that wants to marry her round about," was the boy's self-conscious summing up.
With a sense of revolt, Van Alen left him, and, undressing in the room with the canopy bed, he called up vaguely the vision of a little girl who had visited them in the city. She had had green eyes and freckles and red hair. Beyond that she had made no impression on his callowness. And her name was Mazie Wetherell.
He threw himself on the couch, and the night winds, coming in through the open window, stirred
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