and whittled rough, and waited; for he was there by appointment,
to meet Dr. Knowles.

Knowles had gone out early in the morning to look at the ground
he was going to buy for his Phalanstery, or whatever he chose to
call it. He was to bring the deed of sale of the mill out with
him for Holmes. The next day it was to be signed. Holmes saw
him at last lumbering across the prairie, wiping the perspiration
from his forehead. Summer or winter, he contrived to be always
hot. There was a cart drawn by an old donkey coming along beside
him. Knowles was talking to the driver. The old man clapped his
hands as stage-coachmen do, and drew in long draughts of air, as
if there were keen life and promise in every breath. They came
up at last, the cart empty, and drying for the day's work after
its morning's scrubbing, Lois's pock-marked face all in a glow
with trying to keep Barney awake. She grew quite red with
pleasure at seeing Holmes, but went on quickly as the men began
to talk. Tige followed her, of course; but when she had gone a
little way across the prairie, they saw her stop, and presently
the dog came back with something in his mouth, which he laid down
beside his master, and bolted off. It was only a rough
wicker-basket which she had filled with damp plushy moss, and
half-buried in it clusters of plumy fern, delicate brown and
ashen lichens, masses of forest-leaves all shaded green with a
few crimson tints. It had a clear woody smell, like far-off
myrrh. The Doctor laughed as Holmes took it up.

"An artist's gift, if it is from a mulatto," he said. "A born
colourist."