Adams moved to the water shelf and washed his face and hands carefully. He dampened an end of the towel and rubbed it inside his collar. He smoothed his hair with his hands and edged into a chair at the long table against the wall. His wife leaned over him to place a plate of cold biscuits. He caught at a fold of her skirt as she moved away.

He said playfully, “Don’t make company of me in my own house, Emma.”

The thin girls gaped at him. He was uncomfortable, as though he had tried to make a joke in church. Emma brought hot dishes from the stove. She stood looking at the table, and pushed back a forelock of hair. The gesture made her in an instant his wife again. He remembered teasing her about it, telling her she would wear herself bald-headed. He had seen her lie in bed beside him, her hair braided neatly for the night, and lift her hand to brush back that very soft dark forelock. A sharp sweetness struck through him.

A rap sounded on the door. Voices lifted, and the near neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Mobbley, came noisily into the kitchen. Adams jerked from his chair to shake hands. He was pleased and proud that they had come to see him on his first night at home.

Emma said in a low voice, “Fetch Jackie,” and in the confusion the older girl went out of the room, returning with a child of four, rubbing his eyes from sleep. Adams glanced at him vaguely, turning back to Mobbley with delight in the visit. The Mobbleys were obese and florid. Insisting that they had already eaten, they sat at table and joined heartily in the food.

Mobbley said between mouthfuls, “I ain’t one to hold his trouble against a man. I’ve always said, you didn’t do no more than ary other man in a quarrel, and the argument going against him. If you hadn’t of pushed that sorry Wilbur out of the rowboat into the lake, he’d of pitched you out and it would of been you drowned and him in the penitentiary.”

Adams said eagerly, “That’s what the new superintendent said, getting me the pardon. He said it was self-defense, like, and I shouldn’t never of been allowed to plead guilty to second-degree murder. It was manslaughter at the very worst, he said, and that ain’t serious. Not twenty years sentence, no-how.”

Mobbley frowned.

He said, “ ’Course, it ain’t every neighbor would come to you right off, like me. There’s folks figure the jail is the jail.”

Adams said humbly, “It’s mighty good of you, coming.” He hitched himself about on his chair. He asked eagerly, “You want to see the pardon?”

They leaned forward in their chairs.

“I’ve always wanted to see one,” Mrs. Mobbley said.