"Lay off yer coat, strenger, an' git yer shirt dry; hit's outdacious onagreeable fur to hev on a wet shirt."
Moreton smiled pleasantly.
"Thank you, I will," he said, rising and stripping off the stiff jacket. "You are very kind. I am covering your floor with water."
"Shaw, that's nothin'," replied the man, in a tone of gentle contempt; "ef ye'd see hit sometimes when I come in ye mought talk. Them little puddles haint nothin' 'tall. The Colonel an' me jest floods the whole house when we gits wet."
"Wonder ef John haint a comin', Pap?"
This sudden inquiry came in a sweet, half-shy voice from the girl at the window.
"She calls him John, I calls him Colonel," explained the man. Then turning to answer the question:
"Oh, ther's no 'countin' fur him; he's as like to stay out all day and night es any way; hit don't make no differ'nce 'bout rain es to him, do it, Milly?"
The girl had turned her face toward the man when she spoke, but now she averted it again, a little flush gathering on the brown cheek.
"He don't mind no weather, strenger, the Colonel don't, rain er sunshine hit's all the same to him, hain't hit, Milly?" continued the host.