tree-trunk which formed one of the posts of the porch. "My!" he said, as
he followed his hostess indoors, "you do have things nice. I never come
here without wantun' to have my old shanty whitewashed inside like yourn
is, and the logs plastered outside; the mud and moss of that chinkun' and
daubun' keeps fallun' out, and lettun' all the kinds of weather there is
in on us, and Sally she's at me about it, too; she's wuss'n I am, if
anything. I reckon if she had her say we'd have a two-room cabin, too, and
a loft over both parts, like you have, Mis' Braile, or a frame house,
even. But I don't believe anybody but you could keep this floor so clean.
Them knots in the puncheons just shine! And that chimbly-piece with that
plaster of Paris Samuel prayin' in it; well, if Sally's as't me for a
Samuel once I reckon she has a hundred times; and that clock! It's a
pictur'." He looked about the interior as he took the seat offered him at
the table, and praised the details of the furnishing with a reference to
the effect of each at home. In this he satisfied that obscure fealty of
the husband who feels that such a connection of the absent wife with some
actual experience of his is equivalent to their joint presence. It was not
so much to praise Mrs. Braile's belongings to her as to propitiate the
idea of Mrs. Reverdy that he continued his flatteries. In the meantime
Braile, who came in behind him, stood easing himself from one foot to the
other, with an ironical eye slanted at Reverdy from under his shaggy
brows; he dropped his head now, and began walking up and down the room
while he listened in a sort of sarcastic patience.

"Ain't you goin' to have anything to eat, Mr. Braile?" his wife demanded,
with plaintive severity.

Braile pulled at his cob-pipe which muttered responsively, "Not so long
as I've got anything to smoke. Gets up," he explained to Reverdy, "and
jerks it out of my mouth, when we haven't got company."