“It’s been here for years, and the people who belonged here have never been short-lived,” said Henry.  “I like it.”

“I don’t,” said Sylvia.  She looked at the road.  “I don’t see where they can be.”

“Oh, they’ll be along soon.  Don’t worry, Sylvia.”

“Well,” said Sylvia, in a strident voice, “I’m going in and get supper, and when it’s ready we’ll set down and eat it.  I ain’t going to wait one minute.  I’m just sick of this kind of work.”

Sylvia got up, and her scissors dropped again onto the step.  Henry picked them up.  “Here are your scissors,” said he.

Sylvia took them and went into the house with a flounce.  Henry heard a door slam and dishes rattle.  “She’s all wrought up again,” he thought.  He felt very tall as he pitied Sylvia.  He was sorry for her, but her distress over such a matter as the young folks’ being late seemed to him about as much to be taken seriously as the buzzing of a bumblebee over a clump of lilies in the yard.

He was watching the bumblebee when he heard the front gate click, and thought with relief that the wanderers had returned, then Sidney Meeks came into view from between the rows of box.  Sidney came up the walk, wiping his forehead with a large red handkerchief, and fanning himself with an obsolete straw hat.

“Hullo,” said Henry.

“How are you?” said Meeks.  “It’s a corking hot day.”

“Yes, it is pretty hot, but I think it’s a little cooler than it was an hour ago.”

“Try walking and you won’t think so.”

“Set down,” said Henry, pointing to the chair Sylvia had just vacated.  “Set down and stay to supper.”

“I don’t say I won’t stay to supper, but I’ve got an errand first.  I’ve struck a new idea about wine.  Haven’t you got a lot of wild grapes down back here?”

“Yes, back of the orchard.”

“Well, I’ve got an idea.  I won’t say what it is now.  I want to see how it turns out first.  Does Sylvia use wild grapes?”

“No, I know she won’t.  There are going to be bushels of Concords and Delawares.”

“Well, I want you to go down with me and let me look at your wild grape-vines.  I suppose the grapes must be set long ago.  I just want to see how many there are.  I suppose I can make a deal with you for some?”

“You can have them, and welcome.  I know Sylvia will say so, too.”

“Well, come along.  We can go around the house.”

Henry and Meeks skirted the house and the vegetable garden, then crossed a field, and found themselves at one side of the orchard.  It was a noble old orchard.  The apple, pear, and peach trees, set in even rows, covered three acres.  Between the men and the orchard grew the wild grapes, rioting over an old fence.  Henry began to say there was a gap in the fence farther down, but the lawyer’s hand gripped his arm with sudden violence, and he stopped short.  Then he as well as Meeks heard