“Bless you, miss, bless you! Cris Carrol will allers be too glad to do a sarvice for one that’s real grit, as you air. That I’ll swar to. Bless you!”
As she turned to take her departure, a sudden idea struck the backwoodsman—
“Why, what a durn’d old fool I am; I never axed her for her name.”
“You’ll pardon me, miss,” said he, “I’m sure you will—but—”
“But, what?” she asked, smilingly.
“But, might I ask you—I’d like to know—” here he stammered and stuttered.
“You want to know my name; that’s it, isn’t it?”
“The very thing!”
“Alice Rody.”
The old backwoodsman started on hearing it.