Now my guest sat Turk fashion, contentedly puffing away, so I followed his example on my side the fire, after tossing on a few more sticks to keep the blaze going. The red embers would have sufficed for heat, the night being warm, but I wanted to see more of this queer being. Above all, I wanted to see his eyes. This I could not do, because the firelight flickered, smoke arose from the burning sticks, and the man had bushy brows. For several minutes there was no sound but the gentle crackling of wood-fiber, or the occasional sizzling of a little jet of steam escaping from its tiny prison. Then I heard a question which almost startled me. "Whut mought a satyr be, no-how?" I laughed low, and pressed the spewed-up ashes down into my pipe. "A satyr?" I repeated, thinking swiftly, for really I did not want to cause affront. "Oh! A satyr is a fellow who runs loose in the woods. That's you, isn't it?" He was looking in the fire, and presently he began to nod. "I reck'n it air; yes, I reck'n it air." "But you've another name," I went on; "what is that?" "Jeff Angel." "That doesn't suit," I made bold to answer. "Satyr is much nicer than Angel. Where do you live, pray?" "Anywhur; nowhur. Jis' use 'roun' th' country, eat'n' 'n' sleep'n' fust one place 'n' 'nother." Feeling cramped, I now reclined upon my elbow with my head away from the fire. In this position my companion was invisible. "Why did you come here to-night?" I resumed, pulling leisurely on my briar-root, and noting idly that the stars had become much thicker. "I's goin' to sleep in th' shack," was the prompt reply. "Lots 'n' lots o' times I've slep' thur." "And now I've rooted you out. I'm sorry." "'Tain't wuth worryin' 'bout. I'll go on to th' P'int d'reckly." I twisted my head in his direction with a swift movement. "The Point?... Lizard Point?" "Lizard P'int." He evinced no surprise that I knew the name. "Who do you know there?" I demanded. "All on 'em. Granny, Granf'er, Lessie. They's my folks." So her name was Lessie. "Your folks! What do you mean?" "Granny's my aunt." That would make the Dryad and the Satyr cousins! Heavens! Could this be true? I sank back on my elbow, and slowly dragged the pipe stem over my lower lip into my mouth. Somehow I did not relish this news.