In a doorway near, a third girl was framed—deep-eyed, deep-breasted. “Honor!” cried the old woman, “stop wastin’ yo’ time with that weavin’ in thar an’ come out here an’ he’p these two gals to git Dave his breakfast.” Dave Yandell laughed loudly. “Come on, Honor,” he called, but the girl turned and the whir of a loom started again like the humming of bees. Lydia Noe handed the hunter a pan of deer-meat and corn bread, and Polly poured him a cup of steaming liquid made from sassafras leaves. Unheeding for a moment the food in his lap, Dave looked up into Polly’s black eyes, shifted to Lydia, swerved to the door whence came the whir of the loom. “You are looking very handsome this morning, Polly,” he said gravely, “and Lydia is lovelier even than usual, and Honor is a woodland dream.” He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I really couldn’t.” “Couldn’t what?” asked Polly, though she knew some nonsense was coming. “Be happy even with two, if t’other were far away.” “I reckon you’ll have to try some day—with all of us far away,” said the gentle Lydia. “No doubt, no doubt.” He fell upon his breakfast. “Purple, crimson, and gold—daughters of the sun—such are not for the poor hunter—alack, alack!” “Poor boy!” said Lydia, and Polly looked at her with quickening wonder. Rallying Dave with soft-voiced mockery was a new phase in Lydia. Dave gave his hunting-knife a pathetic flourish. “And when the Virginia gallants come, where will poor Dave be?” Polly’s answer cut with sarcasm, but not at Dave. “Dave will be busy cuttin’ wood an’ killin’ food for ’em—an’ keepin’ ’em from gettin’ scalped by Indians.” “I wonder,” said Lydia, “if they’ll have long hair like Dave?” Dave shook his long locks with mock pride. “Yes, but it won’t be their own an’ it’ll be _powdered_.” “Lord, I’d like to see the first Indian who takes one of their scalps.” Polly laughed, but there was a shudder in Lydia’s smile. Dave rose. “I’m goin’ to sleep till dinner—don’t let anybody wake me,” he said, and at once both the girls were serious and kind. “We won’t, Dave.” Cow-bells began to clang at the edge of the forest. “There they are,” cried Polly. “Come on, Lyddy.” The two girls picked up piggins and squeezed through the opening between the heavy gates. The young hunter entered a door and within threw himself across a rude bed, face down.