A curious sort of understanding grew up between Northrup and the little woman concerning these conclaves. Polly sensed his interest in all that went on and partly comprehended the real reason for it. She had been strangely impressed by the knowledge that her guest was a writer-man and therefore conscientious about the mental food she set before him. She did not share Peter's doubts. Some things she felt were not for Northrup and that fast-flying pen of his! But there were other glimpses behind the shields of King's Forest that did not matter. To these Northrup was welcome. When the hour came for _court_ to sit, it became Northrup's habit to seek the front porch for exercise and fresh air. Sometimes the window nearest to Aunt Polly's sofa would be left open! Sometimes it was closed. In the latter emergency Northrup sought his exercise and fresh air at a distance. One day Maclin called. Northrup had not seen him before and was interested. Indirectly he was concerned with the story in hand for he was the mysterious friend of Larry Rivers and the puller of many strings in King's Forest; strings that were manipulated in ways that aroused suspicion and would be great stuff in a book. Northrup had seen Maclin from his room window and, when all was safe, quietly took to the back stairs and silently reached the piazza. The window by Aunt Polly's couch was open a little higher than usual and the words that greeted Northrup were: "_I_ call it muggy, Mr. Maclin. That's what _I_ call it, and if the draught hits the nape of your neck, set the other side of the hearth where there ain't no draught." This, apparently, the caller proceeded to do. Outside Northrup took a chair and refrained from smoking. He wanted his presence to be unsuspected by the caller. He was confident that Aunt Polly knew of his proximity, and he felt sure that Maclin had come to find out more about him. From the first Northrup was aware of a subtle meaning for the call and he wondered if the woman, clicking her needles, fully comprehended it! The man, Maclin, he soon gathered, was no ordinary personage. He had a kind of superficial polish and culture that were evident in the tones of his voice. After having accounted for his presence by stating that he was looking about a bit and felt like being friendly, Maclin was rounded up by Aunt Polly asking what he was looking about at? Maclin laughed. "To tell the truth," he said, as if taking Aunt Polly into his intimate confidence, "I was looking at the Point. A darned dirty bit of ground with all those squatters on it." "We haven't ever called 'em that, Mr. Maclin. They're folks with nowhere else to live." Aunt Polly clicked her needles. "They're a dirty, lazy lot. I can't get 'em to work over at the mines, do what I will."