“Sure there be! They sent down Nick Ammons because his wife bought milk down the canyon. They had a sick baby, and it’s not much you get in this thin stuff at the store. They put chalk in it, I think; any way, you can see somethin’ white in the bottom.” “So you have to trade at the store, too!” “I thought ye said ye’d worked in coal-mines,” put in Old Rafferty, who had been a silent listener. “So I have,” said Hal. “But it wasn’t quite that bad.” “Sure,” said Mrs. Rafferty, “I’d like to know where ’twas then--in this country. Me and me old man spent weary years a-huntin’.” Thus far the conversation had proceeded naturally; but suddenly it was as if a shadow passed over it--a shadow of fear. Hal saw Old Rafferty look at his wife, and frown and make signs to her. After all, what did they know about this handsome young stranger, who talked so glibly, and had been in so many parts of the world? “’Tis not complainin’ we’d be,” said the old man. And his wife made haste to add, “If they let peddlers and the like of them come in, ’twould be no end to it, I suppose. We find they treat us here as well as anywhere.” “’Tis no joke, the life of workin’ men, wherever ye try it,” added the other; and when young Tim started to express an opinion, they shut him up with such evident anxiety that Hal’s heart ached for them, and he made haste to change the subject. SECTION 12. On the evening of the same Sunday Hal went to pay his promised call upon Mary Burke. She opened the front door of the cabin to let him in, and even by the dim rays of the little kerosene lamp, there came to him an impression of cheerfulness. “Hello,” she said--just as she had said it when he had slid down the mountain into the family wash. He followed her into the room, and saw that the impression he had got of cheerfulness came from Mary herself. How bright and fresh she looked! The old blue calico, which had not been entirely clean, was newly laundered now, and on the shoulder where the rent had been was a neat patch of unfaded blue.