He brought the mail-bag and picked up the stranger's valise.
"Thy husband's been looking for thee," he said, as they went along the path that led across a vacant lot to the street.
The woman did not reply at once. She seemed intent upon gathering her showy skirts out of the dust. When she spoke, her voice trembled on the verge of a laugh.
"That so? I've been lookin' for him, too. Thought I'd give him a pleasant surprise."
"He's got his house about finished."
The woman stopped in the path.
"His house," she sneered; "he must be rattled if he thinks I'll live in a place like this—forty miles from nowhere."
They walked on in silence after that to the door of Jerry's shanty. There was a light inside, and the smell of cooking mingled with the resinous odor of the new lumber. Jerry was executing a difficult passage in a very light opera to the somewhat trying accompaniment of frying ham. The solo stopped abruptly when Enoch knocked.
"Come in," shouted the reckless voice of the singer, "let the good angels come in, come in!"
Enoch opened the door.