before his eyes, Lonesome Creek slipped through them to the river,
and the old man had certainly picked out the very heart of silence
for his home. There was no neighbour within two leagues, Judd
said, except old Squire Billy Beams, who ran a mill a mile down
the river. No wonder the spot was called Lonesome Cove.

"You must ha' seed Uncle Billy and ole Hon passin'," he said.

"I did." Devil Judd laughed and Hale made out that "Hon" was short
for Honey.

"Uncle Billy used to drink right smart. Ole Hon broke him. She
followed him down to the grocery one day and walked in. 'Come on,
boys--let's have a drink'; and she set 'em up an' set 'em up until
Uncle Billy most went crazy. He had hard work gittin' her home,
an' Uncle Billy hain't teched a drap since." And the old
mountaineer chuckled again.

All the time Hale could hear noises from the kitchen inside. The
old step-mother was abed, he had seen no other woman about the
house and he wondered if the child could be cooking dinner. Her
flushed face answered when she opened the kitchen door and called
them in. She had not only cooked but now she served as well, and
when he thanked her, as he did every time she passed something to
him, she would colour faintly. Once or twice her hand seemed to
tremble, and he never looked at her but her questioning dark eyes
were full upon him, and always she kept one hand busy pushing her
thick hair back from her forehead. He had not asked her if it was
her footprints he had seen coming down the mountain for fear that
he might betray her, but apparently she had told on herself, for