Old Peter was stringing some new wire along the outer fence and did not notice Wade's approach; if he had noticed him he did not let on.
"Busy this morning, neighbor," said Wade, pulling up. Old Peter turned abruptly, spat out a great stream of "terbacker" juice and replied: "Ther durned old cow gits out too often. Gotter double ther wires. 'Light an' hitch, won't ye?"
Wade would, as he wished to become better acquainted with his nearest neighbor. He had called before, he said, but had found Mr. Judson gone out on business, and he was glad to find him at home on this beautiful morning. While Wade talked with Old Peter Judson, he could feel the power of those piercing dark eyes as they penetrated the window pane behind him. The vision was again before him. The bewitching smile, the great rows of pearly white teeth, the dimples in either cheek, he saw, though she sat somewhere in the dark recesses of that little old cabin. But this did not deter him. He spoke of the great prospect for another crop, while the old man leaned against a fence post and occasionally spit a stream of dark red tobacco juice.
Once he took deliberate aim at a young chick and missed him about a half inch. He would have drowned him had he hit the mark.
"Ye haint got chickens down ter yer shanty?" said the old man questioningly.
Wade had a few old hens and a rooster, he said. The hens were not laying,—they were not the laying sort,—but he hoped to raise a few chickens along just for his own pleasure, to get diversion from other duties. He spoke so kindly and firmly that Peter Judson thought he was going to like him, unless he took to different ways, unless he was "agin" the poor man, unless he "mout do something terrible." There was a chance that he was all right and there was a chance that he was all wrong. The "Wolf, Night-Watch," had discovered things that did not at all seem right, and until they were proved false or true an opinion would not be entertained. While one talked with him, there arose a doubt as to whether the Wolf, Night-Watch, might not be utterly mistaken. That would be determined later. For the present he was perfectly all right.
Wade was also making discoveries of which he thought his neighbors knew nothing. He was in the community, he told Judson, to aid and assist his neighbors, especially those who showed an inclination to assist him and a friendliness toward him. He had sufficient funds, he said, to enable him to go through life easily, and therefore his sole aim was not to make money, but to regain lost health. Old Peter opened wide his eyes, making occasional replies.
Though thoroughly uneducated, Peter Judson was no fool by any means, and he had a mathematical way of his own to figure out problems which confronted him in every-day life. He was plain, but staunch, was glad to know his neighbor, and hoped he would call often. They were immediate neighbors, he said, and should be friends: Peter even invited Wade to come back and take dinner, and Wade accepted, pleased with the opportunity that should lead him into the family of which he desired to learn more. He wanted to know their home life, their inmost thoughts, and he therefore gladly accepted the kind invitation to lunch. Wade turned to go, but some supernatural power impelled him to hesitate, and that hesitation brought forth her whom he of all people most desired to see. Nora, seeing that the conversation between her father and the newcomer was about completed, stepped out, with flushed face and throbbing heart, to thank him for the book which she said she had read and enjoyed.
"I have others," he said. "I shall bring another to you soon."
"Thank ye. Are ye goin' a-huntin' fer game, er what?"