and then subsided. Big Tom himself had
taken the initiative of dropping into a doze, and his companions had one
by one followed his example, or at least made an effort at doing so. The
only one of the number who remained unmistakably awake was a little man
who sat on the floor of the end of the porch, his small legs, encased in
large blue jean pantaloons, dangling over the side. This little man, who
was gently and continuously ruminating, with brief "asides" of
expectoration, kept his eyes fixed watchfully upon the Barnesville Road,
and he it was who at last roused the dozers.

"Thar's some un a-comin'," he announced in a meek voice. "'Tain't him."

Big Tom opened his eyes, stretched himself, and gradually rose in his
might, proving a very tight fit for the establishment, especially the
doorway, towards which he lounged, supporting himself against its side.

"Who is it, Ezra?" he asked, almost extinguishing the latter cognomen
with a yawn.

"It's thet thar feller!"

All the other men awakened in a body. Whomsoever the individual might be,
he had the power to rouse them to a lively exhibition of interest. One
and all braced themselves to look at the horseman approaching along the
Barnesville Road.

"He's a kinder curi's-lookin' feller," observed one philosopher.

"Well, at a distance of half a mile, perhaps he is," said Tom. "In a
cloud of dust and the sun blazin' down on him like thunderation, I don't
know but you're right, Nath."

"Git out!" replied Nath, placidly. "He's a curi's-actin' feller, anyway.
Don't go nowhar nor hev nothin' to say to nobody. Jest sets right down in
that thar holler with his wife, as if b'ars an' painters wus all a man or
woman wanted round 'em."

"She's a doggoned purty critter," said the little man in large trousers,
placidly. He had not appeared to listen to the conversation, but, as this
pertinent remark proved, it had not been lost on him.

His observation was greeted with a general laugh, which seemed to imply
that the speaker had a character which his speech sustained.

"Whar did ye see her, Stamps?" was asked.

The little man remained unmoved, still dangling his legs over the porch
side, still ruminating, still gazing with pale, blinking eyes up the
road.

"Went over the mountain to 'tend court to Bakersville, an' took it on my
road to go by thar. She was settin' in the door, an' I see her afore she
seen me. When she hearn the sound of my mule's feet, she got up an' wen