As Barclugh entered the log-house, he found Mrs. Andrews standing in the middle of the room, shyly holding her apron, and shielding a four-year-old boy who was holding on to her skirt and gazing at the stranger in amazement. “Nancy, this gentleman was sent to us by daddy,” was the introduction of the stranger by the husband, and the wife curtsied, nodding her head as the youngster began to cry. But no name was necessary to be mentioned so long as he knew daddy. However, Barclugh accepted the native hospitality, and cheerfully took the chair proffered him before the comfortable fireplace, while the housewife went silently about her duties. Benjamin Andrews had been on his farm in the Whippany valley nearly two years, and he had a comfortable log-house well chinked and roofed with shakes riven out of white pine. A good-sized log-barn, thatched with straw, six head of cattle,--three cows and three yearlings,--one full sow and three porkers running about the yard,--two indifferent horses worth about four guineas each, constituted Andrews’ belongings. His land was one hundred and eighty acres, for which he paid forty pounds sterling, and about thirty-five acres of which was under tillage. With willing hands, he and his family had started in the primitive forest to make a home. They had left the parental roof with three children and about thirty pounds in ready money, saved by several years of hard labor. They had two cows and a heifer, a pair of old horses, a sow, utensils, and a provision of flour and cider to take to their new home. That night Barclugh sat in a large arm-chair before a blazing log fire, after he had done full justice to a bowl of fresh milk and cornmeal mush, also a plentiful portion of fried pork and boiled potatoes with their jackets on. Relays of creamy bread and rich, wholesome butter had done him more service, after his weary journey, than a dinner _à la carte_ at the Café Rochefoucauld in his native Paris. However, what rankled in the brain of Barclugh was the collection of so much real contentment and the enjoyment of much comfort and plenty in the wilderness in so short a time. Whence had it sprung? Could one man accomplish much in so short a period? Barclugh could not restrain his anxiety for enlightenment. He began to ask questions: “How have you built such a fine home in so short a time, Mr. Andrews?” were the words addressed to the settler, who sat smoking his pipe, while the two older children hung around their father, gazing at the stranger from behind their father’s chair. “Wal, it’s ben pritty hard work, but you see we’ve ben pritty lucky. When we fust came on the land, nigh on to two year ago, our neighbors,--” “What, have you neighbors, Mr. Andrews?” interjected Barclugh.