"Do you think that I can ever feel lonesome in the forest and fields, with living things always about me which are ready to share themselves with me?"
"I reckon I haint never thought uv thet. This hyar mountain country air's whar I hev lived in contentment all my life, an' I allows thet hit's good ernough fer me ter keep on livin' in, twill I dies."
Rose remained silent, although obviously disturbed by Donald's words; but, before she could voice her thoughts, another figure quietly joined the group—a tall, stooping man, clean shaven, and with an æsthetic countenance seemingly out of its natural environment.
"Why, it's my minister man," cried Rose joyfully. "Wherever did you come from?"
"My wanderings brought me close home, and I could not pass by without calling on my two good friends in Webb's Gap."
"An' we air downright glad fer ter see ye, reverend," answered the host. "This hyar air the doctor man from the city, what leetle Rose hes told ye so much erbout."
Donald already felt drawn to the strange divine, their common interest in the girl acting as a lode-stone, and he clasped his hand with friendly pressure. The other returned it less vigorously, but no less sincerely, and Donald experienced a peculiar mesmeric thrill which startled him a little.
"Perhaps I should apologize," began Mr. Talmadge in a low voice, the timbre of which still retained the resonance of early culture. "I came on this happy scene—or at least to the corner of the house—while you were speaking of life in the city, and I could not very well help pausing and listening.
"I know your feelings only too well, Dr. MacDonald. I was born, bred and worked in New York until my health became undermined by just such influences as you mentioned; and I was forced to run away, too, and seek the hills 'whence cometh my help.'"
"And deep in your inner consciousness you don't regret the change, do you?" asked Donald.