own foreign past in his own foreign land perhaps: and, it may be,
thinking in his own language.

Silence and smoke for a while; then the mother suddenly straightened
up and lifted a finger:

"Hush! What's that? I thought I heard someone outside."

"Old Poley coughin'," said Uncle Abe, after they'd listened a space.
"She must be pretty bad--oughter give her a hot bran mash." (Poley
was the best milker.)

"But I fancied I heard horses at the sliprails," said the mother.

"Old Prince," said Uncle Abe. "Oughter let him into the shed."`

"Hush!" said the mother, "there's someone outside." There
_was_ a step, as of someone retreating after peeping through a
crack in the door, but it was not old Poley's step; then, from farther
off, a cough that was like old Poley's cough, but had a rack in it.

"See who it is, Peter," said the mother. Uncle Abe, who was
dramatic and an ass, slipped the old double-barrelled muzzle-loader
from its leathers on the wall and stood it in the far corner and sat
down by it. The mother, who didn't seem to realize anything, frowned
at him impatiently. The coughing fit started again. It was a man.

"Who's there? Anyone outside there?" said the settler in a loud
voice.