Her childhood had taught her the value of well-cared feet for the trail.
She put her wet shoes on a pile of wood at the back of the stove, substituting for them a pair of soft and dainty house-moccasins of Indian make.

The fire had now grown strong, and she was content to let her under-garments dry on her body.
During all this time neither had spoken a word.

Not only had the man remained silent, but he went about his work in so preoccupied a way that it seemed to Frona that he turned a deaf ear to the words of explanation she would have liked to utter.

His whole bearing conveyed the impression that it was the most ordinary thing under the sun for a young woman to come in out of the storm and night and partake of his hospitality.

In one way, she liked this; but in so far as she did not comprehend it, she was troubled.