"An old biddy whose husband is scared at every Indian he sees because he
knows he's squatting on their lands. My cousin may not be safe on Howard's
Creek, but my daughter would be. I'll say more; once the Indians know I am
at Howard's Creek, they'll spare that settlement."

It was useless to argue with the man. It was almost impossible to believe
that he meant his vaporings for seriousness. With a scowl he walked to the
rear of the house and entered the kitchen. All the windows were open, and
his voice was deep and heavy. I heard him say:

"Ward, I want you. We're going to have a talk with two white men, who
don't understand Indians. Pat, that young cub of a forest-running Morris
is out front. Hankers to see you, I 'low."

My leather face was still on fire when I heard the soft swish of skirts.
Then she stood before me, more beautiful than even my forest-dreaming had
pictured her, more desirable than ever. She courtesied low, and the
amazing mass of blue-black hair seemed an over-heavy burden for the slim
white neck to carry.

She smiled on me and I found my years dropping away like the leaves of the
maple after its first mad dance to the tune of the autumn's wind. I felt
fully as young as when I saw her in Williamsburg. And time had placed a
distance other than that of years between us: it had destroyed the old
familiarity.

To my astonishment we were meeting as casual acquaintances, much as if a
chin-high barrier was between us. It was nothing like that I had pictured.
I had supposed we would pick up the cordiality at the first exchange of
glances. I stuck out my hand and she placed her hand in it for a moment.

"Basdel, I would scarcely have known you. Taller and thinner. And you're
very dark."

"Wind and weather," I replied. "It was at Howard's Creek I learned you
were here. I was very anxious to see you."

"Don't stand." And she seated herself and I took a chair opposite her. "So
nice of you to have us in mind. It's some three years since."

"I reckon your father doesn't fancy me much."

"He's displeased with you about something," she readily agreed. "You
mustn't mind what he says. He's excitable."

"If I minded it I've forgotten it now," I told her. I now had time to note
the cool creamy whiteness of her arms and throat and to be properly
amazed. She had been as sweet and fresh three years before, but I was used
to town maids then, and accepted their charms as I did the sunshine and
spring flowers.