From the Hand of Dolorita
Miss Herrick's quick eyes swept over the group as she joined it. She recognized immediately the head of the house, gray-bearded and venerable, with a certain dignity of manner that surprised her until she learned that he was the pastor and beloved leader of the mountaineers of four counties. His daughter and two sons lounged near him, one of the latter working with intermittent energy on the construction of a primitive wooden chair. The rude tools with which he toiled were scattered over the floor among bits of wood and shavings. The daughter, after a silent but comprehensive inspection of the visitor and her attire, rose stolidly to assist her mother in the preparation of the evening meal.
With a little sigh of weariness, the guest sank into the chair which the old man indicated for her in the glow of the firelight.
"You are very kind," she said gratefully. "The nearest settlement, the guide tells me, is twenty-eight miles away, and the roads are very bad. I don't know what I should have done if you had not taken me in."
"We 're right glad t' see yuh," the old
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