“Come here!” commanded Mr. Conant.

The boy did not move, therefore the lawyer advanced angrily toward him.

“Why didn’t you obey me?” he asked.

“They’s gals there.  I hates gals,” said the boy in a confidential tone.  “Any sort o’ men critters I kin stand, but gals gits my goat.”

“Who are you?” inquired Mr. Conant.

“Me?  I’m jus’ Bub.”

“Where is Mr. Morrison’s man?”

“Meanin’ Talbot?  Gone up to Mark’s Peak, to guide a gang o’ hunters f’m the city.”

“When did he go?” asked the lawyer.

“I guess a Tuesday.  No—­a Wednesday.”

“And when will he be back?”

The boy whittled, abstractedly.

“Answer me!”

“How kin I?  D’ye know where Mark’s Peak is?”

“No.”

“It takes a week ter git thar; they’ll likely hunt two er three weeks; mebbe more; ye kin tell that as well as I kin.  Mister Will’s gone ter You-Rupp with Miss’ Morrison, so Talbot he won’t be in no hurry ter come back.”

“Great Caesar!  Here’s a pretty mess.  Are you Talbot’s boy?”

“Nope.  I’m a Grigger, an’ live over in the holler, yonder.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Earnin’ two bits a week.”

“How?”

“Lookin’ after the place.”

“Very well.  Mr. Morrison has given us permission to use the Lodge while he is away, so unlock the doors and help get the baggage in.”

The boy notched the stick with his knife, using great care.

“Talbot didn’t say nuth’n’ ’bout that,” he remarked composedly.

Mr. Conant uttered an impatient ejaculation.  It was one of his peculiarities to give a bark similar to that of a dog when greatly annoyed.  After staring at the boy a while he took out Will Morrison’s letter to Talbot, opened it and held it before Bub’s face.

“Read that!” he cried.

Bub grinned and shook his head.

“I kain’t read,” he said.

Mr. Conant, in a loud and severe voice, read Mr. Morrison’s instruction to his man Talbot to do everything in his power to make the Conants comfortable and to serve them as faithfully as he did his own master.  The boy listened, whittling slowly.  Then he said: 

“Mebbe that’s all right; an’ ag’in, mebbe tain’t.  Seein’ as I kain’t read I ain’t goin’ ter take no one’s word fer it.”

“You insolent brat!” exclaimed Peter Conant, highly incensed.  Then he turned and called:  “Come here, Mary Louise.”

Mary Louise promptly advanced and with every step she made the boy retreated a like distance, until the lawyer seized his arm and held it in a firm grip.

“What do you mean by running away?” he demanded.

“I hates gals,” retorted Bub sullenly.

“Don’t be a fool.  Come here, Mary Louise, and read this letter to the boy, word for word.”

Mary Louise, marking the boy’s bashfulness and trying to restrain a smile, read Mr. Morrison’s letter.