"I know nothing about the color of her eyes, but she's something higher than my walking stick," replied the irascible old man.
"The same, sir. She came with Mr. Copeland; and if her eyes didn't make me dance in and out, it's a wonder!" observed the clerk.
"Well, what in the deuce did she want here?"
"She bought a quarter of a cord of oak wood, and paid for it!"
"What did she want with oak wood?" cried Mr. Stillinghast, becoming more impatient every moment.
"To burn, I presume," replied the young man, paring off a chew of tobacco; "but the fact is, sir, we didn't ask her. We always take it for granted that people buy wood to burn."
"Who does know any thing about it?" was the sharp response.
"The sawyer, I fancy, if he can be found. I have not seen him about to-day, however," said the young man, with a broad grin, which he speedily changed, when his strange visitor burst out with,
"When he comes, send him to me.—My name is Stillinghast."
"Certainly, Mr. Stillinghast, certainly. Excuse me, sir, for not recognizing you," stammered the clerk.