Though somewhat uncouth in appearance, the new-comer seemed decidedly harmless—­nay, almost idiotic in appearance.  His smile was pleasant, though illuminating features of the ruggedest description, and the tones of his voice were even musical in the ears of the pedler, to whom any voice would probably have seemed so in that gloomy region.  He very sociably addressed Bunce in the patois of that section; and the ceremonial of introduction, without delay or difficulty, was overcome duly on both sides.  In the southern wilderness, indeed, it does not call for much formality, nor does a strict adherence to the received rules of etiquette become at all necessary, to make the traveller “hail fellow, well met.”  Anything in that quarter, savoring of reserve or stiffness, is punished with decided hostility or openly-avowed contempt; and, in the more rude regions, the refusal to partake in the very social employments of wrestling or whiskey-drinking, has brought the scrupulous personage to the more questionable enjoyments of a regular gouging match and fight.  A demure habit is the most unpopular among all classes.  Freedom of manner, on the other hand, obtains confidence readily, and the heart is won, at once, by an off-handed familiarity of demeanor, which fails to recognise any inequalities in human condition.  The society and the continued presence of Nature, as it were, in her own peculiar abode, put aside all merely conventional distinctions, and men meet upon a common footing.  Thus, even when perfect strangers to one another, after the usual preliminaries of “how are you, friend,” or “strannger?”—­“whar from?”—­“whar going?”—­“fair” or “foul weather”—­as the case may be—­the acquaintance is established, and familiarity well begun.  Such was the case in the present instance.  Bunce knew the people well, and exhibited his most unreluctant manner.  The horses of the two, in like manner with their masters, made similar overtures; and in a little while, their necks were drawn in parallel lines together.

Bunce was less communicative, however, than the stranger.  Still his head and heart, alike, were full, and he talked more freely than was altogether consistent with his Yankee character.  He told of Ralph’s predicament, and the clown sympathized; he narrated the quest which had brought him forth, and of his heretofore unrewarded labors; concluded with naming the ensuing Monday as the day of the youth’s trial, when, if nothing in the meantime could be discovered of the true criminal—­for the pedler never for a moment doubted that Ralph was innocent—­he “mortally feared things would go agin him.”

“That will be hard, too—­a mighty tough difficulty, now, strannger—­to be hanged for other folks’ doings.  But, I reckon, he’ll have to make up his mind to it.”

“Oh, no! don’t say so, now, my friend, I beg you.  What makes you think so?” said the anxious pedler.

“Why, only from what I heer’d you say.  You said so yourself, and I believed it as if I had seed it,” was the reply of the simple countryman.