It sure looks good, when you've been living by your high lonesome and not seeing any window shine but your own little six-by-eight.

Huh ?" "I--I must admit I like better to see the sunset turn my own windows to gold," observed Mr.Dill softly.

"I haven't any, now; I sold the old farm when mother died.

I was born and raised there.

The woods pasture was west of the house, and every evening when I drove up the cows, and the sun was setting, the kitchen windows--" Alexander P.Dill stopped very abruptly, and Billy, stealing a glance at his face, turned his own quickly away and gazed studiously at a bald hilltop off to the left.