"Won't you sit down?" asked Ernest, in an effort to be polite.
The man's face broke into many wrinkles and he laughed aloud.
"Don't know but what I will," said he, "if you ain't afraid I'll hurt your parlor chairs."
It was now the boys' turn to laugh, and the ice was broken. The man squatted down beside the fire as though glad of a chance to rest, and the dog stretched herself out at his feet.
"I'm glad you didn't mean to steal her," said the man, "because then I wouldn't have no one to find birds for me. Then what would I do?"
There seemed to be no answer to this, so Ernest asked him if he had shot many.
"Five this morning," said the man, and tumbled the pretty dead things out of his pockets.
"They're quail, aren't they?" asked Ernest, stroking one of them.
"Yep," said he, "Bob-Whites. They're runnin' pretty good this year, too."
Something in the man's friendly manner inspired a sort of boldness in young Jack.