I noticed that he cleared the doorway at the top and the sides only by a hair's breadth.
By the light of the fire I could see that, in spite of his full first growth of beard, he was young,--even younger than myself,--and that he was by no means bad-looking.

As he still showed signs of retreating at any moment, I took my flask and tobacco from my saddle-bags, handed them to him, pointed to the stool, and sat down myself upon the bed.
"You live near here ?" "Yes," he said a little abstractedly, as if listening for some interruption, "at Ten Mile Crossing." "Why, that's two miles away." "I reckon." "Then you don't live here--on the clearing ?" "No.

I b'long to the mill at 'Ten Mile.'" "You were on your way home ?" "No," he hesitated, looking at his pipe; "I kinder meander round here at this time, when Johnson's away, to see if everything's goin' straight." "I see--you're a friend of the family." "'Deed no!" He stopped, laughed, looked confused, and added, apparently to his pipe, "That is, a sorter friend.

Not much.

SHE"-- he lowered his voice as if that potential personality filled the whole cabin--"wouldn't like it." "Then at night, when Johnson's away, you do sentry duty round the house ?" "Yes, 'sentry dooty,' that's it,"-- he seemed impressed with the suggestion--"that's it! Sentry dooty.