“That’s it, miss; to them as is contented. Do you know I’ve often and often puzzled over the expressin’ o’ that idear, and never could hit it; and yet you’ve gin it in the snapping of a jack-knife.”
“Perhaps you were going to the settlement when you saw me?”
“No; exactly t’other way. I war goin’ from it. I’ve been down beyont hyar to meet a friend o’ mine. It ain’t long ago tho’ since I war in the colony, and staid a spell there. Now I’m bound for the big Savanna, that is, arter I’ve seen you home, and out of danger.”
“Oh, no thank you, that’s not at all necessary. I’m used to wander about alone, although this part of the country is a little new to me.”
“If you’ll allow me, miss, I’ll go with pleasure.”
“That I cannot do. All I want to know now is your name?”
“Cris Carrol,” was the hunter’s reply.
“Then,” said she holding out her pretty white hand, “Cris Carrol, I thank you with my whole heart for what you have done for me. I will remember it to my dying day.”
Like a knight of ancient chivalry, the backwoodsman stooped and kissed the proffered hand.
When he stood erect again, a flush of pleasurable pride made his rugged face look as handsome as an Apollo’s. It was the beauty of honesty.