“My father got killed in the boondocks of Korea, poor guy. My mother works in a dentist’s office—married again, of course. My stepfather thinks I’m a bum and I think he’s a bastard, so we’re quits. I’m flunking out of Dartmouth … and just totaled my car. I doubt if I shall be welcomed as the Prodigal Son at this point, and I have no idea of going home. Not now.”

Having said this much, he let the chair right itself and looked at the two silent witnesses and around the room.

“If I could stay around for a few days …”

Ellen had begun to clear the table and Nick was sitting, his hands between his knees, his head bent, in the attitude he took so often. Neither answered, and Joel swallowed, frowned, and asked, “Any sort of job around?”

Nick looked up.

“Maybe at the sawmill down the road—or the road agent—you could try him.”

“I’d pay my way,” Joel said to Ellen’s back.

Ellen had to make a decision now and her whole instinct rose against taking in this perfect stranger. What was Nick thinking? But on the other hand, how do you turn away a boy in as bad trouble as this one? In the old days it was taken for granted that a stranger would be put up at any house in the village, his horse baited and given a stall.

“We don’t turn people away from the door,” she said. “That’s not the way here in Willard.”

Nick, who felt perhaps that this was rather a thin assent, added, “You’re welcome, Joel.”

“A little island of humanity, are you—in the middle of the so-called affluent society?” The tone was ironic, but Ellen, much to her astonishment, saw tears in Joel’s eyes.

“Time you men got going,” she said. “Dog hasn’t had his breakfast, Nick. Where’s he at?”

“Spring fever,” Nick said, scratching his ear.

She watched them go from the window, then went to the sink to wash up, thinking about what she could rustle up for supper. Maybe a pot roast—they’d have one down at the store, and Dinnock could bring it up if she called before he got started out with the mail. She had onions and there must be some carrots down cellar—potatoes too. Well, you never knew …

When she had finished the dishes and swept the floor, she went to the phone and called Christina and told her what had happened.

Christina was, as always, reassuring. “He sounds all right. Of course it’s a risk, but Nick has his head on his shoulders. I just hope Cathy doesn’t get interested. He sounds like just the sort of crazy lame duck she might think was in need of help.”