The three friends had just finished their supper when Pete saw Sammy entering the ranch clearing.  Young Matt caught up his hat.  At the rear door he paused.  “I’ve got to go now, Dad,” he said awkwardly.  “I can’t see her any more to-day.  But if you’ll let me, I’ll come again when things get too hot.”

The shepherd held out his hand, “I understand.  Come always, my boy.”

The big fellow, with Pete, skipped away into the timber at the rear of the cabin, a moment before Sammy appeared at the open door in front.

CHAPTER XIII.

Sammy lane’s ambition.

“Law sakes!” cried Sammy, looking at the table.  “You don’t use all them dishes, do you, Dad?  You sure must eat a lot.”

“Oh, I eat enough,” laughed Mr. Howitt; “but it happens that I had company this evening.  Young Matt and Pete were here for supper.”  He brought two chairs outside the cabin.

“Shucks!” exclaimed Sammy, as she seated herself, and removed her sunbonnet; “they must’ve eat and run.  Wish’d I’d got here sooner.  Young Matt run away from me this afternoon.  And I wanted to see him ’bout Mandy Ford’s party next week.  I done promised Mandy that I’d bring him.  I reckon he’d go with me if I asked him.”

“There is not the least doubt about that,” observed the man; “I’m sure anyone would be glad for such charming company.”

The girl looked up suspiciously; “Are you a jokin’?” she said.

“Indeed, I am not; I am very much in earnest.  Then, taking a cob pipe from his pocket, he added, politely, “May I smoke?”

“Heh?  O law! yes.  What you ask me for?” She watched him curiously, as he filled and lighted the pipe.  “I reckon that’s because you was raised in the city,” he added slowly; “is that the way folks do there?”

“Folks smoke here, sometimes, do they not?” he returned between puffs.

“I don’t mean that.  Course they smoke and chew, too.  And the women dip snuff, some of ’em.  Aunt Mollie Matthews don’t, though, and I ain’t never goin’ to, ’cause she don’t.  But nobody don’t ask nobody else if they can.  They just go ahead.  That ain’t the only way you’re different from us, though,” she continued, looking at Mr. Howitt, with that wide questioning gaze.  “You’re different in a heap o’ ways.  ’Tain’t that you wear different clothes, for you don’t, no more.  Nor, ’taint that you act like you were any better’n us.  I don’t know what it is, but it’s somethin’.  Take your stayin’ here in Mutton Hollow, now; honest, Dad, ain’t you afear’d to stay here all alone at nights?”

“Afraid? afraid of what?” he looked at her curiously.

“Hants,” said the girl, lowering her voice; “down there.”  She pointed toward the old ruined cabin under the bluff.  “She’s sure been seen there.  What if he was to come, too?  Don’t you believe in hants?”

The shepherd’s face was troubled, as he answered, “I don’t know, Sammy.  I scarcely know what I believe.  Some marvelous experiences are related by apparently reliable authorities; but I have always said that I could not accept the belief.  I—­I am not so sure now.  After all, the unseen world is not so very far away.  Strange forces, of which we know nothing, are about us everywhere.  I dare not say that I do not believe.”