The strangely beautiful young woman stood looking at him gravely and unsmilingly, yet kindly. Instinctively, he recognized the soul of a real gentlewoman. “Thank you,” said she to him now. “There are some things there”—she hesitated, as she turned toward the boat. “That’s all right, ma’am. I’ll fetch up a bunch of ‘em when I come.” So he turned to these additional duties, so foreign to his life and taste; but suddenly it seemed to him that just in return for that gaze of hers, not critical, not appraising him as some wild creature, not twitting him or degrading him, he would be willing to do almost anything in the world. The newcomers were welcomed most effusively by the Widow Dunham herself, who escorted them into the best room of the house, and dusted off all the chairs with her apron, talking meanwhile volubly, and assuring them of her great delight at seeing them. “Ye’ll like it here, Ma’am, onct ye git used to it. I know yore husband right well—he was here last year. Air ye going back into the hills with him?” “I think we are not quite sure about that yet,” replied Mrs. Haddon. “It’s very pleasant here, and I’m very tired. Do you suppose, Jim,” said she, turning to her husband, “we could rest here for a while? It’s very beautiful here, and I feel I’m going to be comfortable.” “That’s how we try to make everybody feel,” said the Widow Dunham. As she spoke to the woman, her eyes were upon the man. She was what was sometimes termed by her neighbors a marrying woman, and all men, married or single, she estimated with a keen eye and one experienced. Haddon laughed a gusty laugh. “We’re fifty miles short of the real Cumberlands here, Marcia. Our property runs from thirty to fifty or even sixty miles back in. To tell the truth, I haven’t seen any of our lands, although we’ve got more than a million invested in here.” “There’s a power of land been bought—timber an’ coal rights—for the last twenty year,” assented the Widow Dunham. “Now they do tell me that they’re a-findin’ oil on some of that land up in yander. No tellin’ what’ll happen. There’s even talk maybe there’ll be a railroad up Hell-fer-Sartin one of these days afore long.” “Who told you about these things?” inquired the newcomer with a certain asperity. “Don’t let it get out—don’t talk about anything. By the way, I’ve got to get some sort of guide—some man who knows that country, and will take me in. Know of anybody?” “Why, I don’t know, Mr. Haddon,” replied the widow ruminatingly, “who ye could git to take ye in. There’s a young man I got around the house—he just come out.” “You don’t mean the chap that was down at the boat-landing, do you? He’s out in the yard now.”