The hint of a smile twitched at the corners of the man's wide mouth.
"Pull up a chair beside the stove, son," he said. "Next thing I know, you'll be sittin' up smokin' and swappin' lies with me, eh?"
"Oh," said Jud cheerily, "maybe it won't be so long," He drew up his chair according to instructions and sat very stiff and silent, fearful that this new liberty would be soon curtailed. Presently a long, bony arm went out and rested around his shoulders.
"I been thinkin'," observed his grandfather, and Jud was as still as a mouse. "I been thinkin'," went on the old man, "and I got an idea maybe you'd like to hear. They's a place in Tomo where they sell chickens and roosters and such. And the last time I was in town I seen some of these speckled chickens. I'll get you one when I go in next time, eh?"
"Oh, granddad," said the boy, hurt, "I don't never want to see one of 'em again."
"I thought you liked 'em, Jud?"
"It wasn't the color. But him and me was pals."
"Pshaw," said the man. "Jud, you go for your bed now. Good night."
Jud went obediently to the corner of the room to his bunk, and his grandfather rose and stood before the open door. The moonlight was softening all the ragged outlines of the hills, as with a great mercy.
