the door of the house, looking idly out upon the brown stretch of
spent bark, and the gray, weather-beaten sheds, and the dun sky, and
the shadowy, mist-veiled woods. The tanner was a tall, muscular
man, clad in brown jeans, and with boots of a fair grade of leather
drawn high over his trousers. As he often remarked, "The tanyard
owes ME good foot-gear--ef the rest o' the mounting hev ter go
barefoot." The expression of his face was somewhat masked by a
heavy grizzled beard, but from beneath the wide brim of his hat his
eyes peered out with a jocose twinkle. His mouth seemed chiefly
useful as a receptacle for his pipe-stem, for he spoke through his
nose. His voice was strident on the air, since he included in the
conversation a workman in the shed, who was scraping with a two-
handled knife a hide spread on a wooden horse. This man, whose name
was Andrew Byers, glanced up now and then, elevating a pair of
shaggy eyebrows, and settled the affairs of the nation with
diligence and despatch, little hindered by his labors or the
distance.

Birt took no heed of the loud drawling talk. In moody silence he
drove the mule around and around the bark-mill. The patient old
animal, being in no danger of losing his way, closed his eyes
drowsily as he trudged, making the best of it.

"I'll git ez mild-mannered an' meek-hearted ez this hyar old
beastis, some day, ef things keep on ez disapp'intin' ez they hev
been lately," thought Birt, miserably. "They do say ez even he used
ter be a turrible kicker."

Noon came and went, and still the mists hung in the forest closely
engirdling the little clearing. The roofs glistened with moisture,