"Come on," he said roughly. "Enter."

Tina came in and looked defiantly at both of them. She was a tall, red-haired girl in her late twenties, wide-shouldered and high-bosomed, and her eyes held the flash and fire that must have belonged to old Lester once. She and Kesley had been sharing a room for six months.

"Still talking?" Tina asked.

"Is there anything special you want?" Kesley snapped.

"Just wanted to tell you lunch is getting cold, that's all. And you left your plough standing in the field. That crazy mutie horse of yours looks like it's asleep on its feet."

Kesley frowned. "Tell Tim to go down there and finish the furrow, will you? I'll be in for lunch in a couple of minutes."

Tina glanced curiously toward van Alen and said, "With or without company?"

"I'll be leaving in a few minutes," van Alen told her. "You needn't prepare anything for me."

"Sorry to hear that," Tina said acidly. "We were looking forward to feeding you." She turned and flounced out.

"Who's that?" van Alen asked.

"Lester's daughter—Lester's the old man. Her name's Tina. She lives with me."

There was a visible stiffening of van Alen's manner. Leaning forward anxiously, he said, "You—have no children yet, have you?"

"You kidding? That's all I need. Things are complicated enough around here without—"

Van Alen rose abruptly. "I see. Well, I'll have to be leaving now, Dale." He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders tightly and walked across the living room. "It's going to be a long hard journey to the Pole; I must begin at once."

He put his hand to the door. Kesley watched him open it.

"Hold it, van Alen. Don't go."

"Why?"

Kesley shook his head without replying. Van Alen looked at him for a moment, shrugged, and turned a second time to leave.

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