THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS
"Heh? O law! yes. What you ask me for?" She watched him curiously, as he filled and lighted the pipe. "I reckon that's because you was raised in the city," he added slowly; "is that the way folks do there?"
"Folks smoke here, sometimes, do they not?" he returned between puffs.
"I don't mean that. Course they smoke and chew, too. And the women dip snuff, some of 'em. Aunt Mollie Matthews don't, though, and I ain't never goin' to, 'cause she don't. But nobody don't ask nobody else if they can. They just go ahead. That ain't the only way you're different from us, though," she continued, looking at Mr. Howitt, with that wide questioning gaze. "You're different in a heap o' ways. 'Tain't that you wear different clothes, for you don't, no more. Nor, 'taint that you act like you were any better'n us. I don't know what it is, but it's somethin'. Take your stayin' here in Mutton Hollow, now; honest, Dad, ain't you afear'd to stay here all alone at nights?"
"Afraid? afraid of what?" he looked at her curiously.
"Hants," said the girl, lowering her voice; "down there." She pointed toward the old ruined cabin under the bluff. "She's sure been seen there. What if he was to come, too? Don't you believe in hants?"
The shepherd's face was troubled, as he answered,
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