Jack Wade was neither physically nor mentally afflicted. His great body was physically strong, his mind was symmetrically powerful. His college training prepared him to face the many difficult problems of life, his elect wisdom led him carefully at all times, and his athletic ability stood him well in hand on many occasions. As he sat pondering, he wondered over the peculiar fact that not a soul in the entire valley with whom he had talked had been willing to breathe one word concerning the great conflagration of a few nights previous. No one ever spoke of it, as though nothing so important had ever happened. Yet one man had lost, in little more time than an hour, what it had taken a lifetime to accumulate.

Things down in the valley were mysteriously strange. Wade had been in the community for some time, with an avowed purpose, but had not learned a single thing that would lead him to any knowledge of what he most desired to know. He was not yet even fully acquainted with his nearest neighbors, and, feeling this to be necessary, he placed a book under his arm and strode up the hot dusty road toward the cabin nearest the mountain, knowing but little what kind of reception would be accorded him. However, the reception was a secondary matter,—the sort did not bother him in the least,—as his thoughts were not on kindly receptions in this God-forsaken community. Apparently there was no friendly feeling between any two persons in the valley, therefore he did not look for a kindly reception, nor did he desire one. He wanted to know the people, that was all.

He passed the little bush which had so kindly sheltered him when Tom Judson came rushing by, and reached the spot where he had bid the little wild flower, the valley girl, good-by. It all looked the same yet. There was the planter's cabin, just as he had seen it on the other occasion; there was the old rickety wire gate through which the girl drove the cow and through which her brother had led his horse soon afterward, and through which he himself now strolled. He felt a peculiar shyness, this man of the world, when he went into the little farmyard. The dog bayed, the chickens cackled loudly, and the ducks quacked, raising their heads loftily and scampering off toward the horse-lot. One old turkey gobbler proudly strutted dangerously near him, signifying that he must be very careful while treading on the soil of their domain. Through the window the girl was watching him, her lustrous eyes all aglow at his approach, her big heart beating a pit-a-pat against her shapely bosom, so fast that she greatly feared lest he must hear it from his waiting place outside.

It was really the newcomer, the one person of all persons whom she most desired to see. She remembered his last conversation, his kind words, his attentive attitude. She had enjoyed him hugely, and wished for the time when she should hear his sweet voice again. By the time he was ready to knock she stood at the door, slightly blushing, not in the least backward. Their eyes met, but that bespoke nothing. Her eyes had met the gaze of others; so had his.

"I've brought a book for you to read," he said, not knowing that she could read at all.

"You needn't," she replied, reddening. But she took the book, as he gave it to her. Turning her face back toward the house she cried with a loud voice, "Mam! here's John, ther newcomer."

Jack looked up startled, greatly confused. She laughed at his confusion.

"That's the name I give everybody who I don't know," she said, smiling.

Wade felt quite relieved, his confusion at once disappearing. The simplicity of this pure valley girl wrought within his soul a feeling almost sympathetic. The simple means she had employed in asking him to introduce himself caused a feeling akin to shame to cover his heart. Recovering his composure, he said:

"I am Jack Wade. I beg your pardon for not having told you before."

"Ye needn't," she replied, extending her hand. A continuous smile played about her face.

"And your name?" he asked hesitatingly.

"Huh!" she grunted. "Thought everybody knowed me. I'm Nory Judson, only gal of Peter Judson, owner of this large terbac—to-bac-ker farm. I'm pleased ter know ye, Jack."

Wade smiled as she requested him to take a seat upon the rickety little porch and make himself at home. She sat beside him and dangled her feet in and out under the porch.

"You haven't got it quite right yet," he said, looking into her face.

"Got whut right?" she asked, a far-away expression covering her countenance.

"Tobacco. T-o-b-a-c-c-o."

"To-bac-co, tobacco," she slowly spelled after him studiously. "I thought hit was terbacker," she continued in apparent animation, "an' nobody hain't never said hit ain't 'round here." She did not mean to rebuke him for the correction. He thought so only because he understood her so very little. However, the subject was most too grave for him just at this juncture in their lives, therefore he quietly evaded further comment, feeling assured that it was not his duty to show this simple, sweet child of the mountainside how incorrectly she spoke, although he would gladly have done so could it have been done without in the least affecting her feelings. The time was not opportune. She was sensitive, perhaps, in a large degree, and he cared not to trample upon her sensibility. Far better that he place himself on a plane equal to her own as regards the use of the English language; otherwise she was more than his equal. Besides, he was in sore need of friends to assist him in fulfilling his purpose.

"No one may ever say that you are not quite right," he said jovially. "If they do, you may call on me and I'll see to it that justice is done."

He smiled and she could not refrain from smiling.

"I forgive ye," she said, "because ye are a lonely bachelor, an' I don't want ye ter feel bad. Ye look so lonesome."

"Thank you. It is very lonely down at my cabin just now, though I surely will become accustomed to this quiet life soon. Then all loneliness will disappear, I presume. Just think of a fellow being away out here by his lonesome self all day and all night, without a human soul to vent his wrath upon or to have a quiet conversation with, and your old brindle cow won't come down that way any more."

She blushed, the crimson covering her face making her appear the more beautiful, if such was possible. The flickering sunlight played on her face as she replied, "She mout a-come agin fer all ye know sometime."

"If she does, I hope she'll get entirely lost deep down in the woodland."

She turned sharply toward him.

"What fer?"

"So you may take longer to look for her, and upon discovering your inability to locate her, may request the newcomer to aid you in the search."

She was studiously silent for a moment, her feet still swinging to and fro underneath the porch. "I know these woods better'n you."

"But we are to suppose that the hour is very late and you are quite afraid to go into the woodland for fear some wild beast will catch you."

Her merry laughter rang over the mountain.

"Would ye help me agin?" she asked.

"Every time."

Again she sat silent.

"Old brindle mout git out agin and she mout git lost. Whut's ther book ye brought me?"

"A story of the Dark Ages."

"Whut's that?"

"What?"

"Ther Dark Ages."

"Oh, that's a time away back yonder before you were born."

"Hit was putty dark in them days, wasn't it?"

Wade's face flushed perceptibly, but he smiled.

"You cannot be so very much younger than myself," he said.

"I don't know how old ye are, but I know I'm old 'nough ter go ter town alone, an' can bring the cows home when Tom's not here."

"Who is Tom?"

"My only brother. Ye seed him t'other night when ye come with me ter fetch the old brindle cow home, didn't ye?"

"I saw someone on horse back coming up the road."

"Did he see ye?" She bent over and looked straight into Wade's eyes.

"I tried to keep him from doing so. I stepped behind a sheltering bush while he passed, not that I particularly cared for his seeing me, but I felt for your safety. You had told me that your father must not see you with me, therefore I was in hiding for you, not for myself at all."

"Ye needn't," she replied warmly. "It's fer yourself I'm lookin' out. I can take care of me. The next time ye can, jest keep on in ther middle of ther road ef ye think yer hidin' fer me. Ye hain't, no, ye hain't."

Again Wade thoroughly misunderstood. "Let us keep peace," he said tenderly, "because you are my nearest neighbor now, and I'm a most neighborly fellow. I came over to-day because I believe neighbors ought to be friendly."

"Is that all?" she asked, a wild and troubled expression in her dark eyes. "No, not all, not quite all," he answered thoughtfully. "Had there not been an attraction here——"

"Whut's 'attraction'?" she interrupted shyly.

"Something to bring a fellow." She could not seem to understand.

"Your hoss could a-done that."

Wade laughed outright. The silvery notes touched deep down into the girl's very heart and soul, and she laughed a joyous laugh.

"I mean there is something on the other end to attract, to cause a fellow to have a desire to go. For instance, a magnetic power attracts other things, other bits of steel directly to it——"

"Whut's magnetic power?" she asked, interrupting.

"Haven't you seen a lodestone or a bit of steel in the shape of a horseshoe that will pick up a needle of its own power?"

"I can do that. Is it a sign that I'm magnetic?"

"Sure. You are the power of attraction just now."

"Aw," she ejaculated, looking shyly at him, "I don't know whut you mean yet."

"I'll bring a stone when I go to the village again and teach you something of the power of magnetism."

"Ye needn't. I know all about that. Al Thompson said onct that I was so powerful a magnetic that he jest couldn't keep away from me. Now I know whut he meant."

"Who is Al Thompson?" asked Wade.

"Why, don't ye know? He's ther wolf—night-watch jest now."

"You are talking strange things to me, Nora. I don't know the wolf—night-watch—at all." The girl placed her finger over her lips. "Here comes Mam," she said.

The scrawny figure of Mrs. Judson appeared in the doorway. "Nora," she said, drawling, "who'd ye say this man was?"

"His name is Jack. That's all I remember."

"Wade," said Jack, smiling.

"That's hit, Mam, Jack Wade. Well, he's ther newcomer, an' our neighbor, an' he's come over ter make hisself 'quainted with us."

"Yer welcome, neighbor Wade," said Mrs. Judson. "Whar be ye from?"

"All the way from New York City."

"Phew!" whistled Nora, dangling her feet a little more furiously. "That's ther biggest city whut hit is, haint it?"

"Well, the largest in the United States, at any rate."

"Be ye a-goin' ter raise terbacker——"

"Tobacco, Mam," corrected Nora, with a knowing wink.

"Whar'd yer l'arn ter be so smart?" asked Mrs. Judson angrily.

"From Jack here. He's been teachin' me ther smart ways of ther town folks."

Jack smiled good-naturedly. He did not intend raising tobacco in great quantities, he said, as he was here on account of his health, but would raise some tobacco, just enough to keep him engaged, to keep him out of deeper mischief.

"I might have the same fate served out to me as did one over yonder a few nights back, if I should raise much tobacco."

For a moment there was a deep silence over the trio. Nora looked quickly up toward the mountain, while her mother cast her eyes downward and counted the cracks in the porch floor.

"Ye mout come through all right," she said finally.

"I might, and I may conclude to raise a large crop some time. I have lately purchased the old Redmond farm, but don't intend using it for the time being. A fellow living a lonely life does not feel greatly like working much."

"Ye've got the richest land in ther whole valley," said Mrs. Judson, "that's sure."

"I have heard so. I look for great crops off it in the future. Do not hope to meet the same fate the former owner met with."

"Not very likely that ye will. I hope not."

"Thank you."

Wade, feeling that to prolong his call at this time would be encroaching on mountain hospitality, excused himself, promising to come again.

"I'm very sorry," he said, "not to have met your men folks."

"They mout be here next time you call," said Nora, following him out to the gate, loath to see him going. "I'll read ther book clean through. Good-by, Jack."

"Good-by, Nora."

There was something attractive in young Jack Wade's bearing that caused Nora Judson to look long after him as he wended down the road toward his own cabin. Once he looked back and saw her still standing at the gate, where he left her. Her hands were clasped before her, she stood erect, looking neither to the right nor to the left, but straight in front of her. Jack waved his hand, but she did not return the wave. When he was a long way off he turned and looked again. She still stood motionless, gazing out into the far beyond, her dress waving in the gentle wind, her tresses, wafted by the gentle breezes, falling about her crimson cheeks.