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complacently
at his handiwork and smoothing down the glossy feathers with the ends
of his withered old fingers. "I thought the American lady down at the
house might want to buy it."
    Thérèse could safely assure him of Melicent's willingness to seize on
the trophy.
    Then she asked why Joçint had not been to the house with news of him.
"I have had chickens and eggs for you, and no way of sending them."
    At mention of his son's name, the old man's face clouded with
displeasure and his hand trembled so that he was at some pains to
place the feather which he was at the moment adding to the widening
fan.
    "Joçint is a bad son, madame, when even you have been able to do
nothing with him. The trouble that boy has given me no one knows; but
let him not think I am too old to give him a sound drubbing."
    Joçint meanwhile had returned from the mill and seeing Thérèse's horse
fastened before his door, was at first inclined to skulk back into the
woods; but an impulse of defiance moved him to enter, and gave to his
ugly countenance a look that was far from agreeable as he mumbled a
greeting to Thérèse. His father he did not address. The old man looked
from son to visitor with feeble expectancy of some good to come from
her presence there.
    Joçint's straight and coarse black hair hung in a heavy mop over his
low retreating forehead, almost meeting the ill-defined line of
eyebrow that straggled above small dusky black eyes, that with the
rest of his physique was an inheritance from his Indian mother.
    Approaching the safe or
garde manger
, which was the most prominent
piece of furniture in the room, he cut a wedge from the round loaf of
heavy soggy corn bread that he found there, added a layer of fat pork,
and proceeded to devour the unpalatable morsel with hungry relish.
    "That is but poor fare for your old father, Joçint," said Thérèse,
looking steadily at the youth.
    "Well, I got no chance me, fu' go fine nuttin in de 'ood" (woods), he
answered purposely in English, to annoy his father who did not
understand the language.
    "But you are earning enough to buy him something better; and you know
there is always plenty at the house that I am willing to spare him."
    "I got no chance me fu' go to de 'ouse neider," he replied
deliberately, after washing down the scant repast with a long draught
from the tin bucket which he had replenished at the cistern before
entering. He swallowed the water regardless of the "wiggles" whose
presence was plainly visible.
    "What does he say?" asked Morico scanning Thérèse's face appealingly.
    "He only says that work at the mill keeps him a good deal occupied,"
she said with attempted carelessness.
    As she finished speaking, Joçint put on his battered felt hat, and
strode out the back door; his gun on his shoulder and a yellow cur
following close at his heels.
    Thérèse remained a while longer with the old man, hearing
sympathetically the long drawn story of his troubles, and cheering him
as no one else in the world was able to do, then she went away.
    Joçint was not the only one who had seen Beauregard fastened at
Morico's door. Hosmer was making a tour of inspection that afternoon
through the woods, and when he came suddenly upon Thérèse some moments
after she had quitted the cabin, the meeting was not so wholly
accidental as that lady fancied it was.
    If there could be a situation in which Hosmer felt more than in
another at ease in Thérèse's company, it was the one in which he found
himself. There was no need to seek occupation for his hands, those
members being sufficiently engaged with the management of his horse.
His eyes found legitimate direction in following the various details
which a rider is presumed to observe; and his manner freed from the
necessity of self direction took upon itself an ease which was
occasional enough to mark it as noteworthy.
    She told him of her visit. At mention of Joçint's name he reddened:
then followed the acknowledgment that the youth in question had