The stage road ran to the left. The house was a
small two-story affair built of logs and clapboards, and was joined to
the outlying stable by a covered passage which was lined with winter
firewood. Marvin, who met us at the pasture-gate, carried a lantern, the
glow of the twilight having faded from the mountain-tops. He was a
small, thick-set man, smooth-shaven as far as the under side of his chin
and jaws, with a whisk-broom beard spread over his shirt-front and half
of his waistcoat. His forehead was low, and his eyes set close
together--sure sign of a close-fisted nature.
To my great surprise his first words, after a limp handshake and a
perfunctory "pleased to see you," were devoted to an outbreak on Jim for
having been so long on the road. "Been waitin' here an hour," he said.
"What in tarnation kep' ye, anyway? Them cows ain't milked yit!"
"Don't worry. I won't go back on them cows," replied Jim, quietly, as he
drove through the gateway, following Marvin, who walked ahead swinging
the lantern to show the mare the road.
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