Moreton was not well enough versed in the mountain lingo to catch the full force of White's realistic comparison, but he understood that it was meant to express admiration and affection of a very touching sort, and immediately there arose in his mind a vision of Milly, as she had stood by the door that day, with one foot on the other and her solemnly innocent face half averted. The two men walked on together to a point where they must separate if White went home. "I hev ter go down this here street ef I want er git ter my lay-out," said the mountaineer, stopping. "I er much erbleeged to ye fur what ye've done." Prompted by some impulse quite foreign to his English nature, Moreton held out his hand and said: "Don't forget to give my kindest regards to your wife and daughter." "Sarting, sarting," exclaimed White, "I'll do thet air." He took Moreton's hand with a hearty grasp, but stood as if faltering and hesitating. "Hit air kinder foolish, but I wanter ask ye ter see ef ye can't git the Colonel to kem home poorty soon. Sorter seems like things don't June roun' jest right ef he ain't ther'." Somewhere between his words there was a half-expressed meaning that seemed to reach and yet baffle and elude Moreton's understanding. "Ye needn' mind er sayin' 'at ther's trouble 'bout 'im er nothin'," continued White, "but jest kinder git 'im ter kem home like. Milly she hain't stout, no how." There was a tender tremor in his voice as he spoke the concluding words. Moreton assured him that Reynolds would come home within a few days, and they parted.