Their hands met in a quick, close grip, then fell apart.
"I like not to have known you, 'Zeki'l, it was so unexpected seein' you here," said 'Lijy, huskily, scanning the worn, deeply lined face before him with glad yet shrinking gaze.
"An' twelve years make a great difference in our looks sometimes, though you are not so much changed," said 'Zeki'l quietly. He had been prepared for the meeting, and years of self-mastery had given him the power of concealing emotion.
"Twelve years? Yes; but it has seemed like twenty to me since—since it all happened. Why didn't you come home, 'Zeki'l, when your time was out?"
"I 'lowed the sight o' me wouldn't be good for you, 'Lijy; an'—an' the old folks were gone."
"Yes; it killed them, 'Zeki'l, it killed them," in a choked voice.
"I know," said 'Zeki'l, hastily, his face blanching; "an' I thought it would be best to make a new start in a new settlement."
"Do the folks here know?"
"That I served my time? Yes; but that's all. When I heard that you had bought the Biggers place I studied hard about movin' away, but I like it here. It's beginnin' to seem like home."
'Lijy stared at the poor cabin, the stunted, naked peach-trees, so cold and dreary-looking in the wintry dusk.