I confess I was startled by this apparition. I set down the pail rather weakly.
"Why, good morning!" I said.
He replied in a high-keyed Irish intonation, at the moment rather feeble in volume.
"C'u'd ye give a man a bite to eat fer some worrk, now?" he asked.
I was relieved. If he had demanded my purse I should not have been surprised. I nodded eagerly.
"Yes, indeed. We need some wood. If you'll cut a little, I'll see that you have some breakfast. You'll find the wood-pile and the ax down there by the barn."
He rose by a sort of slow unfolding process, and I was impressed by his height. I gave him some specifications as to the wood needed, and he was presently swinging the ax, though without force. He lacked "pep," I could see that, and as soon as the food was ready I called him. He ate little, but he emptied the pot of hot coffee in record time. Then he came down to where I was trimming some rose-bushes.
"W'u'd ye let me lie a bit on the hay?" he said. "Thin I'll do some more of the little shtove-shticks fer yeh. I'm feelin' none too brisk this mornin'."
"Been sick?" I asked.
"Naw, just a trrifle weery with trav'lin' an' losin' of sleep."