The stranger stood in the doorway, and surveyed the occupants of the room.
Old Van Quintem looked at the intruder a moment, and then said, as if remembering something, "Are you the man sent by Crumley to mend my piazza railing?"
There was the least hesitation in the man's voice, as he answered, "Yes, sir. I'm here to do that job." His voice was a deep growl, as of a grizzly bear half tamed.
"Where are your tools?" asked old Van Quintem.
The stranger communed with himself, and then replied, in the most natural manner, "I s'pose I only want a saw, a hammer, and a few nails. You have 'em, haven't yer?"
"You're a funny sort of carpenter, to travel without your tools. Do you know, now, that you look more like a California miner than a carpenter?"
"That's not very 'markable," returned the stranger, in profound guttural accents, "considerin' as how I come from California this week."
"You have brought home tons of gold, I dare say," said old Van Quintem, playfully.
"A little," growled the stranger. "The diggins was poor in Calaveras County when I fust went there, but latterly they improved."
At the mention of Calaveras County, the widow suddenly fixed her eyes upon the stranger, and then dropped them on her crotchet work.