The old woman smoked in silence a long while. Then she said suddenly,
"She must be a lovely woman."

"Who?" I asked.

"Tip's wife."

"Who told you?" I demanded.

"Tip."

This was strange in a fugitive husband, one who had fled across the
mountains to escape a perpetual yammering.

"Tip!" I said.

"Yes, Tip," she answered. "Him and me was settin' there in the kitchen
last night, and you was sleepin' away in here, and he told me all about
Black Log. It must be a lovely place--Black Log--so different from
Happy Walley. There's no folks here, that's the trouble. There's
Harmonses a mile down the walley, and below him there's the Spinks a
mile, and up the walley across the run there's my brother, Joe Smith,
and his family--but we don't often have strangers here. The tax
collector, he was up last month, and then you come. You have been a
treat. I ain't enjoyed anything so much for a long time. There's
nothin' like company."

"Even when it can't talk?" I said.