Carington put his hand in his pocket, and took out the roll of notes. As he unfolded them, the woman’s eyes considered them with a quick look of ferocious greed. He counted out twenty-five dollars, and gave the money into her hand, replacing the roll in his pocket as she thanked him. After this he took the bucket, tilted out of it half the water, and, raising it, drank. As he buried his head in its rim, Susan caught Joe by the arm, and pointed to the thirsty man, whose back was toward them. She looked around in haste, took a step toward a broken ax-helve, which lay near by, and then stood still, as Carington set down the bucket. He had been nearer death than he ever knew.
As he turned, the woman’s face again struck him. It was deeply flushed; the large, sensual lower lip was drawn down, so as to uncover a row of large yellow teeth, and the face was stern.
“Thank you, sir,” she said again, quick to notice his look of scrutiny.
“You are welcome. Come, Joe. I want to talk over the lumber.”
As Joe went by her, Susan caught his arm with so fierce a grip that he exclaimed aloud.
“What is it?” said Carington, pausing.
“I hurt my foot last week, and I just stumped my toes—that’s all.”
They walked on and reached the house. Here she passed them and went in. While they stood a moment in talk, she moved to the far corner, and took from its rack Joe’s old-fashioned muzzle-loading rifle. She knew that, as usual, it was loaded. Then she hesitated, set it down against the table, and fetched a bowl of milk to the door.
“You might like a drink of milk?” she said. “Come in. It’s good. Dory fetched it; our cow’s run dry. Hers was better anyway. It’s right rich.”
Carington might have thought of Jael as Mrs. Colkett faced him. “She brought him butter in a lordly dish.” His thoughts, however, were far away.