"Herons ain't none too plenty round here," he said, "and it's all-fired hard to get a shot at one."
"Haven't I seen you before?" asked Flora, letting her trimly-gloved hand rest upon the dog's head. "Did you ever live in Boston?"
"I guess I did!" he returned. "I lived with Breck there for most seven years."
"Oh! then, you are Mr. Mixon. It is wonderful that I happened to meet you here. I've wanted to see you for a long time. Do you know who I am?"
"You must be Miss Sturtevant, ain't you?—the one who was so deused smart about the Branch stock."
"Did you hear of that?" she asked, laughing. "I suppose I am the one; but I didn't know I was so smart."
"All-fired smart is what I say," Mixon affirmed with emphasis. "What did you want of me?"
"You may think it strange," she said reflectively; "yes, I'm sure you will think it very strange that I know any thing about it; but you have some papers that I want to see."
Mixon's face instantly assumed an expression of intensest cunning. He leaned upon his gun, bending his head towards his companion. The dog stood between the strangely-matched pair, turning his intelligent face from one to the other. Flora pushed her hat back from her face as if for coolness, but in reality because she knew it was more becoming so. Her blue eyes shot persuasive glances upon the man before her; while her fingers toyed with the long silken ears of the pointer.
"Papers!" Mixon said. "What sort of papers?"