"He don't mind no weather, strenger, the Colonel don't, rain er sunshine hit's all the same to him, hain't hit, Milly?" continued the host. "I wush he'd come on back home," exclaimed the girl, "that's what I wush." Moreton had turned his back to the fire. He was astride of the chair and the steam was rising vigorously from his wet garments. Out of the corners of his eyes he kept glancing at that lithe, plump little figure by the window. He had the taste of an artist, and here was a model for brush or chisel to imitate. He was a genuine man, too, and here was a bit of rare feminine beauty, no matter how coarsely clad or how hopelessly uncultured. She had the grace of outline common to wild things, and there was that half-pathetic, half-glad beam in her face that appeals to a man's love of the innocent and his pity of the weak. Her head was small and well-poised above plump shoulders, her bust was full, yet girlish, giving just a hint of that early ripeness so common in southern countries, and her waist and limbs were perfect. At rare intervals one sees such a girl among the hardy peasants of most mountain regions, but not so often in America as elsewhere. "Do ye ever smoke a pipe, stranger?" inquired the host, offering Moreton a cob pipe and a twist of tobacco. "Thank you, yes, I will take some of your tobacco; I have a pipe," said the young man, drawing from his vest pocket a small meerschaum, old and dark as mahogany. He had heard of the excellence of this mountain home-grown tobacco. "Hit air purty good, ef I do say hit myself. Most of 'em roun' here's glad to git Tom White's 'backer to chaw an' smoke, hain't they, Milly?" Mr. White thus introduced himself and his tobacco at the same time. At this point Mrs. White quit her wheel and came into the room. She spoke to Moreton pleasantly, as if she had long known him, smiling cordially. "Ef you menfolks don't care, I'll jest jine ye for a whiff er two," she said, going to the chimney-jamb and selecting a pipe. They formed a strange group around that cabin fire. Moreton felt the democratic force of the situation and enjoyed it to the full. "Hain't ye goin' to have a hand in this here gineral smoke, Milly?" said Mr. White, chuckling jocosely and looking, under comically-drawn eyebrows, at the girl. "Now, Pap, you know I don't smoke at all," she quickly answered, getting up and leaving the room. Her movement was as light and nimble as that of a hare. "Course she don't smoke, ye know," said White to Moreton, confidentially lowering his voice; "I wus jest a yankin' at her fur greens; she knows when I'm a greenin' of her, an' she gits tiffy at me in a minute. She's es sharp es a darnin'-needle, Milly is."