Towser went on sleeping.

Taine stumbled to the kitchen and looked out of the window and there, squatted on the back stoop, was Beasly, the Horton man-of-all-work.

Taine went to the back door to see what was going on.

“I quit them, Hiram,” Beasly told him. “She kept on pecking at me every minute of the day and I couldn’t do a thing to please her, so I up and quit.”

“Well, come on in,” said Taine. “I suppose you’d like a bite to eat and a cup of coffee.”

“I was kind of wondering if I could stay here, Hiram. Just for my keep until I can find something else.”

“Let’s have breakfast first,” said Taine, “then we can talk about it.”

He didn’t like it, he told himself. He didn’t like it at all. In another hour or so Abbie would show up and start stirring up a ruckus about how he’d lured Beasly off. Because, no matter how dumb Beasly might be, he did a lot of work and took a lot of nagging and there wasn’t anyone else in town who would work for Abbie Horton.

“Your ma used to give me cookies all the time,” said Beasly. “Your ma was a real good woman, Hiram.”

“Yes, she was,” said Taine.

“My ma used to say that you folks were quality, not like the rest in town, no matter what kind of airs they were always putting on. She said your family was among the first settlers. Is that really true, Hiram?”

“Well, not exactly first settlers, I guess, but this house has stood here for almost a hundred years. My father used to say there never was a night during all those years that there wasn’t at least one Taine beneath its roof. Things like that, it seems, meant a lot to father.”

“It must be nice,” said Beasly, wistfully, “to have a feeling like that. You must be proud of this house, Hiram.”