A woman with lank features, in a soiled gown trailing its rags about her bare feet, came and stood in the doorway and stared at him.
"Does Mr. Wiggett live here?" he inquired.
"Wal, I reckon," said the woman, "'f he ain't dead or skedaddled of a suddent."
"Is he at home?"
"Wal, I reckon."
"Can I see him?"
"I dunno noth'n' to hender. Yer, Sal! run up in the burnt lot and fetch your pap. Tell him a stranger. You've druv a good piece," the woman added, glancing at the buggy-wheels and the horse's white feet, stained with black prairie soil.
"I've driven over from North Mills," replied the young fellow, regarding her pleasantly, with bright, honest features, from under the shade of his hat-brim.
"I 'lowed as much. Alight and come into the house. Old man'll be yer in a minute."