CHAPTER III
A stranger stood in the doorway of the tent. He was short and heavily built, with a big, close-shaven head and small, bright eyes. As Harriet rose and came forward, he smiled reassuringly.
"My brother is not here just now," the girl said. "He has gone after a load of fence posts. Won't you come in?"
"Thanks. I'll sit down out here. It's cooler, I reckon. So you're homesteadin', are you? How do you like it?"
He spoke in such a cheery voice and smiled so pleasantly that Harriet's fears vanished. "To tell the truth, I don't care much for it," she admitted. "It's so very lonely."
"You're right. Homesteadin's hard for a young lady, 'specially one that ain't used to this country. You wa'n't raised out here, I judge, ma'am?"
"Oh, no! We come from Connecticut."
"Say! Connecticut! I'll bet you didn't cal'late to hit the hard pan when you come, neither?" He cocked his head, smiled, and then burst into a ringing laugh.