“Yes,” he said.

The girl looked him up and down again with innocent curiosity. “How much does he give you?” she asked.

“Nothing but my board and clothes,” the man answered, and smiled. He did not seem to find it hard work to stand still and watch her while her black eyes swiftly catalogued each rag. When they reached his bare brown feet she laughed.

“Then I think he had ought to dress you better, an’ give you some shoes,” she said.

“He does—winters,” the man answered calmly.

She gave an impatient shake of her sun-bonnet. “That isn’t the thing—just to keep you all warm,” she exclaimed. “A man like Mr. Collister had ought to keep you looking ’ristocratic.”

The man who worked for Collister grinned. “Not very much in Collister’s line,” he said. “We might get mixed up if I was too dressy.” He pulled a cracker-box forward, and dusted it. “If you ain’t in a hurry, you’d better come inside and take a seat,” he added.

The girl sank to the doorstep instead, taking off her bonnet. Its slats folded together as she dropped it into her lap, and she gave a sigh of relief, loosening some crushed tresses of hair from her forehead. She seemed to be settling down for a comfortable inquisition.

“What kind of clothes does Mr. Collister wear?” she began.

The man drew the cracker-box up near the doorway, and sat down. “Dressy,” he said, “’bout like mine.”

The girl gave him a look which dared to say, “I don’t believe it.”

“Honest truth,” the man nodded. “Would you like to have me call him up from the field, and show him to you?”

Not to assent would have seemed as if she were daunted, and yet the girl had many more questions to ask about Collister. “Pretty soon,” she said. “I suppose if you don’t call him, he’ll be coming for you. They say he works you mighty hard.”

It is never pleasant to be spoken of as something entirely subject to another person’s will. A slow flush spread over the man’s face, but he answered loyally, “Collister may be mean to some folks, but he’s always been mighty good to me.” He smiled as he looked off from stump to stump across the clearing to the far rim of the forest. The stumps seemed to be running after one another, and gathering in groups to whisper secrets. “You’ve got to remember that this is a God-forsaken hole for anybody to be stuck in,” he said; “’tain’t in humanity for him to keep his soul as white as natural, more’n his skin; but there’s this to be said for Collister: he’s always good to me.”

“I’m right glad of that,” the girl said. She too was looking out at the loneliness, and a little of it was reflected on her face. “You-all must think a heap of him,” she added wistfully.

“You can just bet on that,” he declared. “I’ve done him a heap of mean turns, too; but they was always done ’cause I didn’t know any better, so he don’t hold me any grudge.”

“Wouldn’t he mind if he knew you were a-losing time by sitting here talking to me?” she asked.

The man shook his head. “No,” he answered cheerfully, “he wouldn’t care—not for me. There isn’t anybody else he would favour like that, but he makes it a point to accommodate me.”