In Mrs. Porter's indecision she looked again within the weather-beaten station, then across at the motionless, weather-beaten face.
"There doesn't seem to be any one in here," she said.
"I cal'late Joe's out in the shed luggin' wood," responded the man. His pleasant tone, his drawl, the sea-blue of his eyes, caused her to move toward him as the needle to the magnet. She knew the type. All the suspended Maine exhilaration rushed back upon her. How clean he was! How rough! How adorable!
"I've come," she said, gazing up into the eyes regarding her steadily, and said no more.
"Want me to haul ye?" he asked kindly, not changing his position.
"Yes."
"Where to?"
"I don't know." The sunlight of her smile evoked a grin from him.
"Come on a chance, have ye?"
"Yes, So did you, I should think. Nobody but little me getting off here."