“You don’t say,” cried Mrs. Dawson, eagerly.  “I ‘lowed he wus cuttin’ a wide swath over heer.”

“Never was a bigger mistake.  He don’t visit a single gal in the place.  He neglects his business, an’ spends most o’ his time in the woods pretendin’ to hunt, but he seldom fetches back a thing, and you know he used to be the best shot at the beef matches.  Luke thinks his mind is turned a little bit.  Luke happened to go ’long the Shader Rock road t’other day an’ seed John lyin’ flat o’ his back in the woods.  He passed ‘im twice inside of a hour, an’ he hadn’t moved a peg.  No healthy minded man don’t carry on that way, Mis’ Dawson.”

“Hain’t he a-settin’ up to that hotel gal?” Mrs. Bradley turned towards the house with her guest.  “No, he hain’t,” she answered.  “She nussed him when he wus down, an’—­well, maybe she does kinder fancy him a little—­any natcherl girl would—­I don’t say she does nor doesn’t, but he hain’t been to see ’er, to my knowledge, a single time, nur has never tuk her out to any o’ the parties.  No, thar’s nothin’ twixt ’em; she tried to git ’im to come stay at the hotel when he wus sick atter the Whitecap outrage, an’ I thought she acted a little for’ard then, but he refused an’ come to us instead.”

“You don’t say so; why, I heerd—­”

“A body kin always heer more about a thing fur off than right whar it happens,” concluded Mrs. Bradley.  They were now in the sitting-room, and Mrs. Dawson took off her bonnet and shawl.  Mrs. Bradley put some pieces of pine under the smouldering logs in the fireplace and swept the hearth.

That night when Westerfelt came home supper was on the table.  He was surprised to see the visitor, but she did not notice him and he said nothing to her.  The meal passed awkwardly.  Luke made an effort to keep up the conversation with her by asking about his friends in her neighborhood, but her replies were in a low tone and short, and he finally gave up the attempt.

Westerfelt rose from the table before any of the others and left the house.  As he turned from the gate to go to the stable, he looked through the window and saw Mrs. Dawson move her chair to the fire.  He paused and leaned against the fence.  The firelight shone in the old woman’s face; it was sad and careworn.  Somehow she reminded him of his mother, as she had looked a short time before she died.  He started on slowly, but came back again to the same spot.  Luke wiped his mouth on the corner of the table-cloth, rose from the table, and went out at the back door.  Westerfelt heard his merry whistle at the barn.  Mrs. Bradley filled a large pan with dishes and took them into the kitchen.  Mrs. Dawson bent over the fire.  Something in the curve of her back and the trembling way she held her hands to the blaze made him think again of his mother.  He hesitated a moment, then, lifting the ring from the post, he pushed the gate open and went round the house and into the kitchen.