an' there's no disclaimin' he's married, is there? Peggy's a kind man,
an' tol' us to keep stayin' 'til the nabobs arrove. Then I guess we'll
git our walkin'-papers, mighty quick."

"I'm not sure of that," said the girl, thoughtfully. "They must be
hard-hearted, indeed, to turn you out into the world; and you are both
capable people, and would serve the city folks faithfully and well."

"It's my eyes," replied the other, in a simple, matter-of-fact tone.
"Hucks might wait on the nabobs all right, but they won't tol'rate a
blind woman a minute, I'm sure. An' Hucks 'd ruther be with me in the
poor-house than to let me go alone."

"Right y' air, Nora girl!" cried a merry voice, and as the blind woman
looked up with a smile Ethel turned around to face "Old Hucks."

A tall man, but much bent at the shoulders and limping in one leg from
an old hurt aggravated by rheumatism. His form was as gnarled as the
tree-trunks in the apple-orchard, and twisted almost as fantastically.
But the head, uplifted from the stooped shoulders and held a little to
one side, was remarkable enough to attract attention. It had scanty
white locks and a fringe of white whiskers under the chin, and these
framed a smiling face and features that were extremely winning in
expression. No one could remember ever seeing Old Hucks when he was not
smiling, and the expression was neither set nor inane, but so cheery and
bright that you were tempted to smile with him, without knowing why. For
dress he wore a much patched pair of woolen trousers and a "hickory"
shirt of faded blue, with rough top boots and a dilapidated straw hat
that looked as if it might have outlived several generations.