As he said it, Louisiana was at home in the house-room, sitting on a low chair at her father's knee and looking into the fire. She had not gone to bed. When he returned to the house her father had found her sitting here, and she had not left her place since. A wood fire had been lighted because the mountain air was cool after the rains, and she seemed to like to sit and watch it and think.
Mr. Rogers himself was in a thoughtful mood. After leaving his departing guests he had settled down with some deliberation. He had closed the doors and brought forward his favorite wooden-backed, split-seated chair. Then he had seated himself, and drawing forth his twist of tobacco had cut off a goodly "chaw." He moved slowly and wore a serious and somewhat abstracted air. Afterward he tilted backward a little, crossed his legs, and proceeded to ruminate.
"Louisianny," he said, "Louisianny, I'd like to hear the rights of it."
She answered him in a low voice.
"It is not worth telling," she said. "It was a very poor joke, after all."
He gave her a quick side glance, rubbing his crossed legs slowly.
"Was it?" he remarked. "A poor one, after all? Why, thet's bad."
The quiet patience of his face was a study. He went on rubbing his leg even more slowly than before.
"Thet's bad," he said again. "Now, what d'ye think was the trouble, Louisianny?"
"I made a mistake," she answered. "That was all."