"What you laughin' at, Easter?" asked the mother, stopping her
work and looking around.

For answer the girl rose and walked into the house, hiding the
paper in her bosom. The old woman watched her narrowly.

I never seed ye afeard of a man afore," she said to herself. "No, nur
so tickled 'bout one, nother. Well, he air as accommodatin' a feller
as I ever see, ef he air a furriner. But he was a fool to swop his gun
fer hem."

V

THEREAFTER Clayton saw the girl whenever possible. If she
came to the camp, he walked up the mountain with her. No idle
day passed that he did not visit the cabin, and it was not long
before he found himself strangely interested. Her beauty and
fearlessness had drawn him at first; her indifference and stolidity
had piqued him; and now the shyness that displaced these was
inconsistent and puzzling. This he set himself deliberately at work
to remove, and the conscious effort gave a peculiar piquancy to
their intercourse. He had learned the secret of association with the
mountaineers-to be as little unlike them as possible-and he put the
knowledge into practice. He discarded coat and waistcoat, wore a
slouched hat, and went unshaven for weeks. He avoided all
conventionalities, and was as simple in manner and speech as
possible. Often when talking with Easter, her face was blankly
unresponsive, and a question would sometimes leave her in
confused silence. He found it necessary to use the simplest