During the drive, the old fellow commented upon the historical places along the road. He pointed out the spot where he had killed the last diamondback rattlesnake seen in that neighborhood; he directed Lyman's attention to a barn wherein five negroes had been hanged for rising against the whites in 1854; he pointed at a charred stump and told the story of a fanatic who had tied himself there and burned himself on account of his religion. They came at last to a large log house, the Pitt homestead, and had unharnessed the horses before Warren and Nancy came within sight. A tall woman, followed by a score of children of all sizes, came out to meet them. "They ain't all mine," said the old man. "Them as looks about fryin' size belongs to the folks over the creek. Mother, this here is a friend of ourn from away up yonder whar they have to slice the potatoes and slip 'em down between the rocks, and I want to tell you that him and me fits one another like a hand and glove." "I am mighty glad to meet you," said the woman, wiping her hands on her apron. "Come right in and excuse the looks of everything and make yourself at home. But, pap, where's Nancy?" "Oh, she's comin' along in a carry-all with the town man that runs the paper. She's all right--she can take care of herself anywhere." They went into the house, the children scattering and peeping from corners and from behind the althea bushes in the yard. Warren and Nancy soon came in laughing. The girl threw her hat on the bed, tucked up her skirts and went out to the kitchen to help her mother, and the old man excused himself on the grounds that he must go out to feed the stock. "Warren, gallantry is all right, but this is cruel," said Lyman. "We are imposing on this family. Look how those women have to work, and they will strain every nerve to get us something to eat." "Of course they will, and they like it. Do you know that? They do. You couldn't please them more than by eating with them, and I'm always willing to put myself out to please folks. Say, we'll stay here tonight and go in tomorrow." "I am not going to stay. Doesn't it strike you that you are a trifle too brash, as they say around here? Don't you think so?" "Not a bit of it. I want to stay till tomorrow to see whether I want to come back again or not. I want to find out whether I am in love with her or not. I think I am, but still I don't know, and my rule is that a man ought to know where he stands before he walks. We were passing under a tree and she reached up and pulled at a limb and her loose sleeve fell down and I saw her arm. That almost settled it. But I think I'll know definitely in the morning." "Warren, I'm going back to town tonight." "What, over that dark road? Don't you know we passed a good many dangerous places coming? Stay till tomorrow." "No, I'll walk back and leave the wagon for you." "That would be an outrage. If you go back, drive." "No, to tell you the truth I would rather walk. I want to think."