"He's there all right. Every now an' then he has visitors,--just like
this woman to-day,--and sometimes they come down here for supper. They
don't hesitate to speak of him, so he must be there. Miss Tilly has
got the idee that he is a reecluse, if you know what that is."

"It's all very interesting. I should say, judging by the visitor who
came this evening, that he entertains extremely nice people."

"Well," said Jones drily, "they claim to be from New York. But," he
added, "so do them cheapskate actors in there." Which was as much as
to say that he had his doubts.

Further conversation was interrupted by the irregular clatter of
horses' hoofs on the macadam. Off to the left a dull red glow of light
spread across the roadway, and a man's voice called out: "Whoa, dang
ye!"

The door of the smithy had been thrown open and some one was leading
forth freshly shod horses.

A moment later the horses,--prancing, high-spirited animals,--their
bridle-bits held by a strapping blacksmith, came into view. Barnes
looked in the direction of the steps. The two men had disappeared.
Instead of stopping directly in front of the steps, the smith led his
charges quite a distance beyond and into the darkness.

Putnam Jones abruptly changed his position. He insinuated his long
body between Barnes and the doorway, at the same time rather loudly
proclaiming that the rain appeared to be over.