The young man had a racking cough that seemed to wrench and
twist his frame as the settler steered him to a seat on a stool by the
fire. (In the intervals of coughing he glared round like a watched
and hunted sneak-thief--as if the cough was something serious against
the law, and he must try to stop it.)
"Take that wet coat off him at once, Peter," said the settler's
wife, "and let me dry it." Then, on second thoughts: "Take this
candle and take him into the house and get some dry things on him."
The dark man, who was still standing in the doorway, swung aside to
let them pass as the settler steered the young man into the "house;"
then swung back again. He stood, drooping rather, with one hand on
the door-post; his big, wild, dark eyes kept glancing round and round
the room and even at the ceiling, seeming to overlook or be
unconscious of the faces after the first keen glance, but always
coming back to rest on the door in the partition of the boys' room
opposite.
"Won't you sit down by the fire and rest and dry yourself?" asked
the settler's wife, rather timidly, after watching him for a moment.
He looked at the door again, abstractedly it seemed, or as if he had
not heard her.
Then Uncle Abe (who, by the way, was supposed to know more than he
should have been supposed to know) spoke out.
"Set down, man! Set down and dry yerself. There's no one there
except the boys--that's the boys' room. Would yer like to look
through?"
The man seemed to rouse himself from a reverie.
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