We gazed at each other for a moment in some alarm.  The Judge, in particular, vacated his position quickly, as the voice seemed to come directly over his shoulder.  The cause, however, was soon discovered in a large magpie who was perched upon a shelf over the fireplace, and who immediately relapsed into a sepulchral silence which contrasted singularly with his previous volubility.  It was, undoubtedly, his voice which we had heard in the road, and our friend in the chair was not responsible for the discourtesy.  Yuba Bill, who re-entered the room after an unsuccessful search, was loath to accept the explanation, and still eyed the helpless sitter with suspicion.  He had found a shed in which he had put up his horses, but he came back dripping and skeptical.  “Thar ain’t nobody but him within ten mile of the shanty, and that ’ar damned old skeesicks knows it.”

But the faith of the majority proved to be securely based.  Bill had scarcely ceased growling before we heard a quick step upon the porch, the trailing of a wet skirt, the door was flung open, and with flash of white teeth, a sparkle of dark eyes, and an utter absence of ceremony or diffidence, a young woman entered, shut the door, and, panting, leaned back against it.

“Oh, if you please, I’m Miggles!”

And this was Miggles! this bright-eyed, full-throated young woman, whose wet gown of coarse blue stuff could not hide the beauty of the feminine curves to which it clung; from the chestnut crown of whose head, topped by a man’s oilskin sou’wester, to the little feet and ankles, hidden somewhere in the recesses of her boy’s brogans, all was grace—­this was Miggles, laughing at us, too, in the most airy, frank, offhand manner imaginable.

“You see, boys,” said she, quite out of breath, and holding one little hand against her side, quite unheeding the speechless discomfiture of our party, or the complete demoralization of Yuba Bill, whose features had relaxed into an expression of gratuitous and imbecile cheerfulness—­“you see, boys, I was mor’n two miles away when you passed down the road.  I thought you might pull up here, and so I ran the whole way, knowing nobody was home but Jim,—­and—­and—­I’m out of breath—­and—­that lets me out.”

And here Miggles caught her dripping oilskin hat from her head, with a mischievous swirl that scattered a shower of raindrops over us; attempted to put back her hair; dropped two hairpins in the attempt; laughed and sat down beside Yuba Bill, with her hands crossed lightly on her lap.

The Judge recovered himself first, and essayed an extravagant compliment.

“I’ll trouble you for that thar harpin,” said Miggles, gravely.  Half a dozen hands were eagerly stretched forward; the missing hairpin was restored to its fair owner; and Miggles, crossing the room, looked keenly in the face of the invalid.  The solemn eyes looked back at hers with an expression we had never seen before.  Life and intelligence seemed to struggle back into the rugged face.  Miggles laughed again—­it was a singularly eloquent laugh—­and turned her black eyes and white teeth once more toward us.