“Yes.”
“You've come a good piece to-day, I reckon.”
“A long way.”
The woman took her fat right hand from her hips, and began to brush the skirt of her calico dress, although there was nothing on it to remove.
“Well,” she said, “you better come in and git your supper.”
The man turned and faced the woman.
His features appeared by a powerful effort to exclude something which he wished not to show and had been until this moment not wholly able to conceal.
“You are very kind,” he said. “I am hungry.”
“Just set down on the porch.” said the woman. “We've had our supper, but I'll git you a bite.”
The man came over and sat down, his hands idly on his knees, his face looking out toward the mountains. The woman began her preparations for the stranger's meal. She entered the room where the wooden table stood, crossed to a cupboard, opened it and took out some dishes. These she began to put on the table. Then she stopped and stood with her hands resting on her hips. A moment later she removed the dishes, went over to a chest, standing in the corner, lifted the lid, took out a clean homespun linen cloth, and spread it over the table.