As for Florence, while the night shadows darkened she was making her way down the mountain trail, back to the cabin of old Job, the one-armed giant.
Once there, she threw off her hat and coat and drew up a chair to the fire.
“Et?” the giant asked from his corner.
The girl shook her head.
“Want a snack?”
Another shake, then again silence.
For a long while the nickel alarm clock above the mantel raced against time and its constant tick-tick was the only sound that disturbed the Sabbath-like stillness.
At last the aged giant cleared his throat with surprising difficulty, then spoke:
“I reckon it peers plumb quare to you all that we all stay up here in these here mountains this away?”
Florence did not answer. She merely bent forward with an air of great expectancy on her face.