"Yes, it means more," the old man replied. "Well, you won't rob my hens much longer. Your days are numbered." "So are yours, ma'am." "Now, don't you fret. I'll plant flowers on your grave." "See that you don't plant hog-weeds." "What difference will it make to you? Your soul will be gone. But what will you do over there? You'd be out of place makin' silk dresses. If you do make any send me one. I'll want it when I marry again." "Why do you want to dress up to meet a fool?" "Shut your rattle-trap. It will be a wise man that marries me. If Bill here was a little older, I'd set my cap for him. Wouldn't I, Bill?" "I don't doubt it. We can all set a trap for a fox, but it takes a shrewd trapper to catch him." The old man chuckled. She looked at him and said that he would have been hauled off long ago, but that the devil didn't care to hitch up for one--Yankee-like, wanting a load whenever he drove forth. "But before you go, Lewson, I want you to promise me one thing,--that you will come back. You've got me half-way into the notion that you can." "I will come back the third night, ma'am," he replied, his voice earnest. "When my body has been in the grave three days I will come back to my room and meet you there." Milford turned away. The old woman followed him. "Do you believe he can come back?" she asked. His sharp eyes cut round at her, like the swing of a scythe. "An old log may learn to float up-stream," he said. She stepped in front of him. "You've done somethin' that you don't want known," she declared. "As smart a man as you wouldn't come out here and work on a farm for nothin'." "I don't expect to work for nothing." "Come into the house, Bill. Those women want to get acquainted with you." "Why don't they get acquainted with their husbands?" "I know it," she replied, with a look, and in a younger eye the light would have been a gleam of mischief, but with her it was a glint almost of viciousness. "I know it. They are always after a curiosity. They've got it into their heads that you've done some sort of deviltry, and they want to talk to you. One of them said her husband was such a dear, dull business man. And nearly all of them hate children." "I hate a woman that hates children," Milford replied, and the old woman said, "I know it." Mrs. Blakemore, the tired George, and the tugging boy came into the yard. The woman's eyes brightened when she saw Milford. It seemed that the other women had commissioned her to sound his mysterious depth. His keen eyes, his sharp-cut beard, a sort of sly unconcern marked him a legitimate summer exploration. Men from the city came and went, shop-keepers, tailors, machinists, lawyers, driveling of hard times and the hope of a business revival, and no particular attention was paid to them, but here was a man with a hidden history. Perhaps he was a deserter from the regular army; doubtless he had killed an officer for insulting him. This was a sweet morsel and they made a bon-bon of it.