wicks. The embers on the hearth had expired, and the fireplace was a
sooty, black cavern. Fanny, at the candles, was the only thing clearly
visible; the thin radiance slid over the turn of her cheek; her hovering
hand was like a cut-paper silhouette. It was growing late; Thomas Gilkan
would soon be back from the Furnace; he must go. Howat had no will to
avoid Gilkan, but the thought of the necessary conversational exchange
wearied him.

The sound of footsteps approached the house from without; it was, he
thought, slightly annoyed, the founderman; but the progress deflected
by the door, circled to a window at the side. A voice called low and
urgent, "Seemy! Seemy!" It was repeated, and there was an answering
mutter from the stair, a thick murmur and a deep sigh.

The cast boy slipped crumpled and silent in bare feet across the floor.
"Yes," he called back, rapidly waking.

The voice from without continued, "They're going to start up the Oley."

"What is it?" Fanny demanded.

"The raccoon dogs," the boy paused at the door. "A lot of the furnacemen
and woodcutters from round about are hunting."

Fanny Gilkan leaned across the table to Howat, her face glowing with
interest. "Come ahead," she urged; "we can do this anyhow. I like to
hear the dogs yelping, and follow them through the night. You can bring
your gun, I'll leave mine back, and perhaps we'll get something really
big."