“The timbers aren't seasoned, are they? They look like pitch-pine, just out of the woods. Won't they warp?”
“No. Pitch-pine goes right in, green. I s'pose the pitch keeps it, if it's out of the sun.”
“Where did you cut it?”
Eph colored a little.
“In my back lot.”
The doctor smoked on calmly, and studied the boat.
“I don't know as I know you,” said Eph, relaxing a little.
“Good reason,” said the doctor. “I 've only been here two years;” and after a moment's pause, he added: “I am the doctor here, now. You 've heard of my father, Dr. Burt, of Broad River?”
Eph nodded assent; everybody knew him, all through the country,—a fatherly old man, who rode on long journeys at everybody's call, and never sent in his bills.
The visitor had a standing with Eph at once.