"Is it yours, 'Zeki'l?"
"Yes; it's mine, all mine. Come in and sit awhile with me, an' warm. It's goin' to be a nippin' cold night."
He turned, and 'Lijy silently followed him across the bare yard and into the house. A flickering fire sent its warm glow throughout the room, touching its meagre furnishing with softening grace, but a chill struck to 'Lijy Morgan's heart as he crossed the threshold—a chill of desolation.
"Do you live here alone?"
"Yes; all alone, except Rover and the fiddle."
The cur rose up from the hearth with a wag of his stumpy tail, and gave the visitor a glance of welcome from his mild, friendly eyes.
There were only two chairs in the room, and 'Zeki'l placed the best one before the fire for his guest, then threw on some fresh pieces of wood. Outside the dusky twilight deepened to night, the orange glow fading from the west, and the stars shining brilliantly through the clear atmosphere. The chill wind whistled around the chimney-corners and through the chinks in the log walls.
Between the men a constrained silence fell. The meeting had been painful beyond the open acknowledgment of either. The dog crept to his master's side and thrust his nose into his hand. The touch roused 'Zeki'l. From the jamb he took a cob pipe and a twist of tobacco.
"Will you smoke, 'Lijy?"
"I believe not; but I'll take a chew."