Grinnell slouched up and sat down among them, responding with a nod to the unceremonious "Hy're, Job?" of the blacksmith, who seemed thus to do the abbreviated honors of the occasion. The others did not so formally notice his coming. The subject of conversation was the same that had pervaded his own thoughts.
"Hy're Rufe!" he swung uneasily posed on his crutch stick in the doorway, and mechanically shaded his eyes with one hand, as from the sun, as he gazed dubiously at the young man, "hain't ye in an' about finished yer visit t or yer visitation, ez the pa'son calls it He, he, he! Wall, Loralindy hev gone up steers ter the roof-room, an' it's about time ter bar up the doors.
As the ranger trotted down the winding road, multitudinous hoof-beats, as of a troop of cavalry, heralded his approach to the little girl who stood on the porch of the log-cabin and watched for him. "Hy're, Cunnel!" he cried, cordially. But the little "Colonel" took no heed.