Things down in the valley were mysteriously strange. Wade had been in the community for some time, with an avowed purpose, but had not learned a single thing that would lead him to any knowledge of what he most desired to know. He was not yet even fully acquainted with his nearest neighbors, and, feeling this to be necessary, he placed a book under his arm and strode up the hot dusty road toward the cabin nearest the mountain, knowing but little what kind of reception would be accorded him. However, the reception was a secondary matter,--the sort did not bother him in the least,--as his thoughts were not on kindly receptions in this God-forsaken community. Apparently there was no friendly feeling between any two persons in the valley, therefore he did not look for a kindly reception, nor did he desire one. He wanted to know the people, that was all. He passed the little bush which had so kindly sheltered him when Tom Judson came rushing by, and reached the spot where he had bid the little wild flower, the valley girl, good-by. It all looked the same yet. There was the planter's cabin, just as he had seen it on the other occasion; there was the old rickety wire gate through which the girl drove the cow and through which her brother had led his horse soon afterward, and through which he himself now strolled. He felt a peculiar shyness, this man of the world, when he went into the little farmyard. The dog bayed, the chickens cackled loudly, and the ducks quacked, raising their heads loftily and scampering off toward the horse-lot. One old turkey gobbler proudly strutted dangerously near him, signifying that he must be very careful while treading on the soil of their domain. Through the window the girl was watching him, her lustrous eyes all aglow at his approach, her big heart beating a pit-a-pat against her shapely bosom, so fast that she greatly feared lest he must hear it from his waiting place outside. It was really the newcomer, the one person of all persons whom she most desired to see. She remembered his last conversation, his kind words, his attentive attitude. She had enjoyed him hugely, and wished for the time when she should hear his sweet voice again. By the time he was ready to knock she stood at the door, slightly blushing, not in the least backward. Their eyes met, but that bespoke nothing. Her eyes had met the gaze of others; so had his. "I've brought a book for you to read," he said, not knowing that she could read at all. "You needn't," she replied, reddening. But she took the book, as he gave it to her. Turning her face back toward the house she cried with a loud voice, "Mam! here's John, ther newcomer." Jack looked up startled, greatly confused. She laughed at his confusion. "That's the name I give everybody who I don't know," she said, smiling.