"’Zeki’l Morgan must be lonesome, or pestered about somethin’. You’d think that old fiddle o’ his could talk an’ cry too, from the way he’s playin’." The season advanced; crops were gathered, and the shorn fields looked brown and bare. A sere, withering frost touched the forests, and the leaves fell in drifts, while the partridge called to his mate from fence and sedgy covert. A light snowfall lay on the distant mountains when the Biggerses started to the West and the new family of Morgans moved into Zion Hill settlement. It was the third day after their arrival. ’Zeki’l leaned over the front gate with an armful of corn, feeding two fat pigs, when ’Lijy Morgan passed along the road on his way to Mr. Davy Tanner’s store. He was a strong-looking, well-built man, with rugged features and hair partly gray. He looked curiously at the solitary, stooping figure inside the gate, his steps slackened, then he stopped altogether, a grayish pallor overspreading the healthy, ruddy hue of his face. "’Zeki’l!" ’Zeki’l dropped the corn, and thrust open the gate. "Howdy you do, ’Lijy?" [Illustration: "HOWDY YOU DO, ’LIJY?"] Their hands met in a quick, close grip, then fell apart. "I like not to have known you, ’Zeki’l, it was so unexpected seein’ you here," said ’Lijy, huskily, scanning the worn, deeply lined face before him with glad yet shrinking gaze. "An’ twelve years make a great difference in our looks sometimes, though you are not so much changed," said ’Zeki’l quietly. He had been prepared for the meeting, and years of self-mastery had given him the power of concealing emotion. "Twelve years? Yes; but it has seemed like twenty to me since—since it all happened. Why didn’t you come home, ’Zeki’l, when your time was out?" "I ’lowed the sight o’ me wouldn’t be good for you, ’Lijy; an’—an’ the old folks were gone." "Yes; it killed them, ’Zeki’l, it killed them," in a choked voice. "I know," said ’Zeki’l, hastily, his face blanching; "an’ I thought it would be best to make a new start in a new settlement." "Do the folks here know?" "That I served my time? Yes; but that’s all. When I heard that you had bought the Biggers place I studied hard about movin’ away, but I like it here. It’s beginnin’ to seem like home." ’Lijy stared at the poor cabin, the stunted, naked peach-trees, so cold and dreary-looking in the wintry dusk. "Is it yours, ’Zeki’l?" "Yes; it’s mine, all mine. Come in and sit awhile with me, an’ warm. It’s goin’ to be a nippin’ cold night." He turned, and ’Lijy silently followed him across the bare yard and into the house. A flickering fire sent its warm glow throughout the room, touching its meagre furnishing with softening grace, but a chill struck to ’Lijy Morgan’s heart as he crossed the threshold—a chill of desolation. "Do you live here alone?" "Yes; all alone, except Rover and the fiddle."