Apparently she had not before noticed him standing beside the fence.
"Good-evening," said Wade pleasantly. A lovely flush covered her dark face.
"Howdy?" she replied. Then falteringly, "Seen anything of a old brindle cow down this away?"
"Yes," said Wade. "She's just yonder in the woodland grazing leisurely. I'll go fetch her for you."
"Ye needn't be so kind," said the girl. "I kin git her myself. Much obleeged."
She started on, unmindful of his grateful glance, after the cow.
"I'll go with you, if you don't mind," he said, "and show you where to find her."
She didn't mind, so Wade bolted, in athletic style, over the fence and joined her.
Old Peter Judson's daughter was a very beautiful girl. Jack looked into her face,—he had nothing else to do just now,—and wondered how it was possible that she could be so pretty. Though born and reared in the valley, and having known nothing of the outside world, she was fearless in speech and manner. Her form was indeed very fine for one who had not the opportunities to gather grace, her voice was musically soft and sweet, her face was delicately fair. She looked up into Wade's eyes with an expression of earnestness that was almost an appeal.
"Ye are the newcomer, ain't ye?" she asked, unabashed.