The youth seemed studiously desirous of changing the direction of the dialogue.

“Man or woman, I see, for my part, no harm in the question.  But do call me Forrester, or Mark Forrester, whichever pleases you best, and not mister, as you just now called me.  I go by no other name.  Mister is a great word, and moves people quite too far off from one another.  I never have any concern with a man that I have to mister and sir.  I call them ’squire because that’s a title the law gives them; and when I speak to you, I say ’squire, or Master Colleton.  You may be a ’squire yourself, but whether you are or are not, it makes no difference, for you get the name from your father, who is.  Then, ag’in, I call you master—­because, you see, you are but a youth, and have a long run to overtake my years, few as you may think them.  Besides, master is a friendly word, and comes easy to the tongue.  I never, for my part, could see the sense in mister, except when people go out to fight, when it’s necessary to do everything a little the politest; and, then, it smells of long shot and cold business, ’squire.  ’Tisn’t, to my mind, a good word among friends.”

The youth smiled slightly at the distinction drawn with such nicety by his companion, between words which he had hitherto been taught to conceive synonymous, or nearly so; and the reasons, such as they were, by which the woodman sustained his free use of the one to the utter rejection of the other.  He did not think it important, however, to make up an issue on the point, though dissenting from the logic of his companion; and contented himself simply with a repetition of the question in which it had originated.

“Why, I take shame to answer you rightly, ’squire, seeing I am no wiser and no better than I am; but the whole secret of the matter lies in the handle of this little hatchet, and this I made out of a live-oak sapling some sixteen years ago—­It’s much less worn than I, yet I am twice its age, I reckon.”

“You are now then about thirty-two?”

“Ay, just thirty-two.  It don’t take much calculating to make out that.  My own schooling, though little enough for a large man, is more than enough to keep me from wanting help at such easy arithmetic.”

With the exception of an occasional and desultory remark or two, the conversation had reached a close.  The gravity—­the almost haughty melancholy which, at intervals, appeared the prevailing characteristic of the manners and countenance of the youth, served greatly to discourage even the blunt freedom of Mark Forrester, who seemed piqued at length by the unsatisfactory issue of all his endeavors to enlist the familiarity and confidence of his companion.  This Ralph soon discovered.  He had good sense and feeling enough to perceive the necessity of some alteration in his habit, if he desired a better understanding with one whose attendance, at the present time, was not only unavoidable but indispensable—­one who might be of use, and who was not only willing and well-intentioned, but to all appearance honest and harmless, and to whom he was already so largely indebted.  With an effort, therefore, not so much of mind as of mood, he broke the ice which his own indifference had suffered to close, and by giving a legitimate excuse for the garrulity of his companion, unlocked once more the treasurehouse of his good-humor and volubility.