Clayton soon saw that his confession of ignorance was a lucky
accident. It brought Easter and himself nearer common ground.
She felt that there was something, after all, that she could teach
him. She had been overpowered by his politeness and deference
and his unusual language, and, not knowing what they meant, was
overcome by a sense of her inferiority. The incident gave him the
key to his future conduct. A moment later she looked up covertly,
and, meeting his eyes, laughed again. The ice was broken. He
began to wonder if she really had noticed him so little at their first
meeting as not to recognize him, or if her indifference or reserve
had prevented her from showing the recognition. He pulled out his
note-book and began sketching rapidly, conscious that the girl was
watching him. When be finished, he rose, picking up the old
flint-lock.

"Won't ye stay and hev some dinner?,' asked the old woman.

"No, thank you."

Come ag'in," she said, cordially, adding the mountaineer's farewell,
"I wish ye well."

"Thank you, I will. Good-day."

As he passed the girl he paused a moment and dropped the paper
into her lap. It was a rude sketch of their first meeting, the bull
coming at him like a tornado. The color came to her face, and
when Clayton turned the corner of the house he heard her
laughing.