"Does John know you? Where'd ye ever see John? He never told me 'bout ye." She was still glancing sideways at him over her shoulder, and standing with one foot resting across the toe of the other, her left elbow pressed against the wall.
Moreton smiled and shook his head.
"It was a long way off from here that I saw him. Beyond the sea, across many countries. Ask him to tell you about Edward Moreton. He will remember a great many things that we did. We had many adventures together. He's a grand fellow."
"What air a grand feller? What d'ye mean by that there?" she slowly asked.
"Oh, I mean a great deal, every thing that is worth meaning," said Moreton. Then feeling that he had failed to satisfy her, he added in a very gentle tone: "I mean that he is good and that I like him."
She smiled, and a sudden pleasure flashed from her eyes; but her face quickly resumed its almost stolid repose and the vague trace of helplessness and pathetic innocence returned.
The rain was over and Moreton got ready to go just as the sun, now far down the west, swung free of the scattering cloud and flamed against a space of intensely blue sky above the most distant purple mountain peaks.
White refused to accept any pay for the shelter and food given to Moreton, and, carrying his practical mountain generosity still further, he slung the brace of turkeys across his shoulder and led the way for more than a mile, to put his guest into a path which was the shortest route over the mountain to a highway leading into Birmingham. The two men shook hands at parting on the highest swell of a heavy ridge, whence they could see the little city, with its great columns of coal-smoke and its shining white houses, lying far below amidst the gentle undulations of the valley. A long walk yet remained for Moreton, with no companion save the little spaniel; but his thoughts were of such a nature that he scarcely noted how rough and tiresome was the way. The clouds were now all gone and the sky, as night drew on, was filled with stars that, seen through the purified air, appeared to flame and waver like the flare of sunlight on ice. The temperature had fallen several degrees, giving a keen edge to the breeze which was now out of the north-west; but there still arose from the pine woods that resinous fragrance which is a balm for every wound that occasional inclemencies of the mountain weather may give. The streams had subsided as suddenly as they had risen, and all nature seemed hastening to regain that tranquil equilibrium for which the southern winters are noted.