Ann had heard the story before, and always it had brought the color to her cheeks, for it stirred her imagination, but she had never flushed more deeply than now. "You like Garvin, don't you, Ben?" she asked softly.
Ben eyed her in his shrewd way, "Yes, he's got feelin' for the woods—a born hunter. Trouble is, everything's game to Garvin, Ann."
Ann was afraid to say anything more. "It was a bag-fox they had this morning," she remarked for diversion.
"Shame!" Ben said curtly. Then, irrelevantly, "I reckon I'll choose Westmo' fo' my nex' shootin'. I mean to tote my traps over there to-night."
Ann was recalled to her errand. "You mean you'd go away from us, Ben?" she asked in well-simulated surprise.
Ben's eyes twinkled. "I'm tellin' you news now, ain't I! What did you come down here for?"
Ann laughed; she knew it was no use to pretend. "You're so smart, Ben—you know what's in people's heads ... Aunt Sue told me. She's just heart-broken, an' I said I'd come an' beg you. How could we have got on without you this winter, and how are we going to get on without you now? Don't you go, Ben!"
"Reckon Coats can run this place without me," Ben said determinedly.
"I don't believe he can," Ann persisted. "I know he'll want you."
"Not he. I know Coats Penniman."