The man's jaw dropped, as almost did the lamb; but catching himself in time he hugged it closer with unconscious strength. The woman replaced the cover on the stew-pan, straightened up, and spoke.
"Good-evening," she said. This in a tone of positive welcome (possibly a little overdone).
"How do you do," he replied.
"I have just been making use of your fire-hole. And your coffee-pot. You see I was—I was—"
"Oh, that's all right. That's all right. Just make yourself right at home. Are the men folks gone somewhere?" He cast his eyes about.
"There are no—no men folks. You see I was just coming along by myself—alone—without anybody—any men folks." These words nearly choked her. But immediately she added, with the most brightening smile, "I was so frightened by your dog. He scared me so."
Having said this, she dropped her eyes to the stew-pan, the contents of which seemed to need attention just at that moment.
"Oh, he won't bite. Anyway, he won't bite you. He knows ladies."
"I am so afraid of them," she said, her eyes still occupied.
She needed a moment to recover her courage, thinking rapidly. And as for the man, he thought nothing whatever; he just looked. She was bright-eyed and fair and wholly perfect. She was dressed in plain black, with deep white cuffs which turned back upon the sleeves, and a white turnover collar, as neat as a nun. Offsetting, somehow, the severity of this, was the boyish side-sweep of her hair, and the watch-chain looped to a crocheted pocket on her breast. And on the ground lay the soldierly three-cornered hat.