"Hello!" answered the man.

"I want to git to stay all night." The man hesitated.

"We don't keep people all night."

"Not keep people all night," thought Chad with wonder.

"Oh, I reckon you will," he said. Was there anybody in the world who wouldn't
take in a stranger for the night? From the doorway the woman saw that it was a
boy who was asking shelter and the trust in his voice appealed vaguely to her.

"Come in!" she called, in a patient, whining tone. "You can stay, I reckon."

But Chad changed his mind suddenly. If they were in doubt about wanting
him--he was in no doubt as to what he would do.

"No, I reckon I'd better git on," he said sturdily, and he turned and limped
back up the hill to the road--still wondering, and he remembered that, in the
mountains, when people wanted to stay all night, they usually stopped before
sundown. Travelling after dark was suspicious in the mountains, and perhaps it
was in this land, too. So, with this thought, he had half a mind to go back
and explain, but he pushed on. Half a mile farther, his foot was so bad that
he stopped with a cry of pain in the road and, seeing a barn close by, he
climbed the fence and into the loft and burrowed himself under the hay. From
under the shed he could see the stars rising. It was very still and very
lonely and he was hungry--hungrier and lonelier than he had ever been in his
life, and a sob of helplessness rose to his lips--if he only had Jack--but he
held it back.