with a shambling gait, stooped
considerably, and swung his arms. He seldom wore a coat, and on days
as mild as this his shirt-sleeves were always rolled up. He presented
a striking contrast to John Westerfelt, who, by the people of that
remote section, might have been considered something of a swell.

"How are you, ol' hoss?" Bradley laughed, as he swung the sagging gate
open and grasped his friend's hand. "Glad to see you; I've done
nothin' but fight tongue battles fer you all day. Webb has been
cussin' me black an' blue fer biddin' agin 'im fer a stranger, but
thar's one consolation--we've got 'im on the hip."

Westerfelt laughed pleasantly as he followed his host into the
sitting-room. "Much obliged to you, Luke. I'm glad I took your advice
about the investment."

"Me'n Marthy wus both dead set on gettin' you over heer," Luke said, as
he placed a chair for Westerfelt in front of the fire. "Both of us
'low a change will do you good."

Mrs. Bradley sat down in a corner and spread out her ample homespun
skirt and began to run the hem of her apron through her fat, red
fingers.

"Me'n Luke's been talkin' it over," she said, with some embarrassment;
"we 'lowed you mought mebby be willin' to put up with us; we've got a
spare room, an' you know about how we live. You've lied unmercifully
ef you don't like my cookin'," she concluded, with an awkward little
laugh.

"I never lie," he retorted, smiling. "It's been a year since I ate at
your house, but I can taste your slice-potato pie yet, and your
egg-bread and biscuits, ugh!"

She laughed. "You'll stay, then?"

"I'm afraid not. I've packed up some pieces of furniture--a bed and
one thing or other--and I calculated that I'd occupy the room over the
stable. I'd like to be near my business. I reckon I can get my meals
down at the hotel. I'll stay with you to-night, though; the wagon
won't come till to-morrow."

"Well, I'm disappointed, shore 'nough," said Mrs. Bradley. "I had
clean forgot the room at the stable, an' I ought to 'a' knowed, too,
that Saunders' boys bunked thar. Well, I won't raise no objections;
Mis' Boyd, a widow woman, is keepin' the hotel now, and folks say she
feeds well an' cheap enough. She's from Tennessee, an's got a
good-lookin', sprightly daughter. Nobody knows a thing about 'em; they
don't talk much about the'rse'ves. They tuk the hotel when Rick Martin
sold out last fall, an' they've been thar ever sence."

Supper was