"That is pretty poor fun for me," said the man. "I am very tired, and more hungry than tired. Couldn't you let me have a little supper, at any rate?"
Euphemia glanced at me. I nodded.
"You are welcome to some supper," she said; "come in! We eat in the kitchen because it is more convenient, and because it is so much more cheerful than the dining-room. There is a pump out there, and here is a towel, if you would like to wash your hands."
As the man went out the back door I complimented my wife. She was really an admirable hostess.
The individual in faded snuff-colour was certainly hungry, and he seemed to enjoy his supper. During the meal he gave us some account of himself. He was an artist and had travelled, mostly on foot, it would appear, over a great part of the country. He had in his valise some very pretty little coloured sketches of scenes in Mexico and California, which he showed us after supper. Why he carried these pictures—which were done on stiff paper—about with him, I do not know. He said he did not care to sell them as he might use them for studies for larger pictures some day. His valise, which he opened wide on the table, seemed to be filled with papers, drawings, and matters of that kind. I suppose he preferred to wear his clothes, instead of carrying them about in his valise.
After sitting for about half an hour after supper he rose, with an uncertain sort of smile, and said he supposed he must be moving on—asking at the same time how far it was to the tavern over the ridge.
214
