“Beazeley up and died at the mill, and she bedevilled her father to let her take his two young 'uns here.” “You don't mean to say that with her other work she's taking care of other people's children too?” “Yes, and eddicatin' them.” “Educating them?” “Yes; teachin' them to read and write and do sums. One of our loggers ketched her at it when she was keepin' tally.” We were both silent for some moments. “I suppose you know Johnson?” I said finally. “Not much.” “But you call here at other times than when you're helping her?” “Never been in the house before.” He looked slowly around him as he spoke, raising his eyes to the bare rafters above, and drawing a few long breaths, as if he were inhaling the aura of some unseen presence. He appeared so perfectly gratified and contented, and I was so impressed with this humble and silent absorption of the sacred interior, that I felt vaguely conscious that any interruption of it was a profanation, and I sat still, gazing at the dying fire. Presently he arose, stretched out his hand, shook mine warmly, said, “I reckon I'll meander along,” took another long breath, this time secretly, as if conscious of my eyes, and then slouched sideways out of the house into the darkness again, where he seemed suddenly to attain his full height, and so looming, disappeared. I shut the door, went to bed, and slept soundly. So soundly that when I awoke the sun was streaming on my bed from the open door. On the table before me my breakfast was already laid. When I had dressed and eaten it, struck by the silence, I went to the door and looked out. 'Dolphus was holding Chu Chu by the reata a few paces from the cabin. “Where's Caroline?” I asked. He pointed to the woods and said: “Over yon: keeping tally.” “Did she leave any message?” “Said I was to git your mule for you.” “Anything else?” “Yes; said you was to go.” I went, but not until I had scrawled a few words of thanks on a leaf of my notebook, which I wrapped about my last Spanish dollar, addressed it to “Miss Johnson,” and laid it upon the table. ***** It was more than a year later that in the bar-room of the Mariposa Hotel a hand was laid upon my sleeve. I looked up. It was Johnson. He drew from his pocket a Spanish dollar. “I reckoned,” he said, cheerfully, “I'd run again ye somewhar some time. My old woman told me to give ye that when I did, and say that she 'didn't keep no hotel.' But she allowed she'd keep the letter, and has spelled it out to the chillern.” Here was the opportunity I had longed for to touch Johnson's pride and affection in the brave but unprotected girl. “I want to talk to you about Miss Johnson,” I said, eagerly. “I reckon so,” he said, with an exasperating smile. “Most fellers do. But she ain't Miss Johnson no more. She's married.” “Not to that big chap over from Ten Mile Mills?” I said breathlessly. “What's the matter with HIM,” said Johnson. “Ye didn't expect her to marry a nobleman, did ye?”