Silas sat in a strong wooden chair. Under the sky he never thought of his six feet and two inches of bone and muscle; now it seemed to fill his consciousness and the little room in which he sat. To-day and generally he leaned against the wall, a knee in his hands as if to keep himself in proper restraint.
"Did you just come to bring me that squirrel?" Annette inquired.
"No," he answered.
"What then?"
"Squirrel come t' b-bring me."
"Silas Strong!" she exclaimed, playfully, amazed by his frankness.
He put his big hand over his face and enjoyed half a minute of silent laughter.
"Silas Strong!" she repeated.
"Present,"'said he, as if answering the call of the roll, and sobering as he uncovered his face.
In conversation Silas had a way of partly closing one eye while the other opened wide beneath a lifted brow. The one word of the Emperor was inadequate. He was, indeed, present, but he was extremely happy also, a condition which should have been freely acknowledged. It must be said, however, that his features made up in some degree for the idleness of his tongue. He brushed them with a downward movement, of his hand, as if to remove all traces of levity and prepare them for their part in serious conversation.