uch of the importance of training
her mind," I remarked.

He gave me a troubled look, moved uneasily, as I had seen him move when
I told him that I was burying a rabbit, ran his fingers through his
upright, bristling hair and for a long time was silent. And as I looked
at him I fancied that he was trying to think of something to say,
something to lead my mind away from what he had already said. I had seen
the quaint, half-comical side of his nature, and now I saw that he could
be thoughtful, and in his serious mood his face was strong and rugged.
His beard, cropped close, reminded me of scraps of wire, some of them
rusted; and when he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand I wondered
that he did not scratch the skin off.

Guinea came to the door and told us that the meal was ready. The old man
got up, with a return of his comical air, and told me to follow him. The
girl continued to stand near the threshold and as I drew near unto her
she said: "This door wasn't cut quite high enough for you, was it? Look,
father, he has to duck his head. The boys may have a time putting him
into the creek." She was now talking to her father, but was looking at
me, so I took it upon myself to answer her. "Yes, for you have called
attention to the fact that my legs are long and the rascals may have
hard running with trying to catch me."

"Oh," she replied, "but I was thinking of your strength rather than your
swiftness. Come this way. Father has run off and left you."

The old man had stepped down out of the passage and had gone some
distance toward a small house surrounded by a picket fence.

"You go with her," he called, looking back, "and I'll be there pretty
soon."

"No telling when he will come now," the girl remarked, walking close
beside me. "He's got two of the most spiteful chickens out there you
ever saw, and whenever anything goes wrong with him he bolts right out
there, no matter who is here, and makes those vicious things peck at
each other. Mother and I try hard to reform him, but we can't."

It was Mrs. Jucklin's time-grayed privilege to apologize for the
scantiness of her fare, and this she did with becoming modesty and
regret. She had not expected company; the regular dinner hour was over
long ago, and somehow she never could understand why she couldn't get a
meal out of the regular time. But if I would only give her a chance she
would reclaim herself. She called my attention to the corn bread;
declared that i