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He
was
not
far
wrong
,
for
only
a
few
isolated
drops
had
fallen
when
they
turned
into
the
road
under
the
shaggy
flank
of
Porcupine
,
and
came
upon
the
brown
house
.
It
stood
alone
beside
a
swamp
bordered
with
alder
thickets
and
tall
bulrushes
.
Not
another
dwelling
was
in
sight
,
and
it
was
hard
to
guess
what
motive
could
have
actuated
the
early
settler
who
had
made
his
home
in
so
unfriendly
a
spot
.
Charity
had
picked
up
enough
of
her
companion
’
s
erudition
to
understand
what
had
attracted
him
to
the
house
.
She
noticed
the
fan
-
shaped
tracery
of
the
broken
light
above
the
door
,
the
flutings
of
the
paintless
pilasters
at
the
corners
,
and
the
round
window
set
in
the
gable
;
and
she
knew
that
,
for
reasons
that
still
escaped
her
,
these
were
things
to
be
admired
and
recorded
.
Still
,
they
had
seen
other
houses
far
more
“
typical
”
(
the
word
was
Harney
’
s
)
;
and
as
he
threw
the
reins
on
the
horse
’
s
neck
he
said
with
a
slight
shiver
of
repugnance
:
“
We
won
’
t
stay
long
.
”
Against
the
restless
alders
turning
their
white
lining
to
the
storm
the
house
looked
singularly
desolate
.
The
paint
was
almost
gone
from
the
clap
-
boards
,
the
window
-
panes
were
broken
and
patched
with
rags
,
and
the
garden
was
a
poisonous
tangle
of
nettles
,
burdocks
and
tall
swamp
-
weeds
over
which
big
blue
-
bottles
hummed
.
At
the
sound
of
wheels
a
child
with
a
tow
-
head
and
pale
eyes
like
Liff
Hyatt
’
s
peered
over
the
fence
and
then
slipped
away
behind
an
out
-
house
.
Harney
jumped
down
and
helped
Charity
out
;
and
as
he
did
so
the
rain
broke
on
them
.
It
came
slant
-
wise
,
on
a
furious
gale
,
laying
shrubs
and
young
trees
flat
,
tearing
off
their
leaves
like
an
autumn
storm
,
turning
the
road
into
a
river
,
and
making
hissing
pools
of
every
hollow
.
Thunder
rolled
incessantly
through
the
roar
of
the
rain
,
and
a
strange
glitter
of
light
ran
along
the
ground
under
the
increasing
blackness
.
“
Lucky
we
’
re
here
after
all
,
”
Harney
laughed
.
He
fastened
the
horse
under
a
half
-
roofless
shed
,
and
wrapping
Charity
in
his
coat
ran
with
her
to
the
house
.
The
boy
had
not
reappeared
,
and
as
there
was
no
response
to
their
knocks
Harney
turned
the
door
-
handle
and
they
went
in
.
There
were
three
people
in
the
kitchen
to
which
the
door
admitted
them
.
An
old
woman
with
a
handkerchief
over
her
head
was
sitting
by
the
window
.
She
held
a
sickly
-
looking
kitten
on
her
knees
,
and
whenever
it
jumped
down
and
tried
to
limp
away
she
stooped
and
lifted
it
back
without
any
change
of
her
aged
,
unnoticing
face
.
Another
woman
,
the
unkempt
creature
that
Charity
had
once
noticed
in
driving
by
,
stood
leaning
against
the
window
-
frame
and
stared
at
them
;
and
near
the
stove
an
unshaved
man
in
a
tattered
shirt
sat
on
a
barrel
asleep
.
The
place
was
bare
and
miserable
and
the
air
heavy
with
the
smell
of
dirt
and
stale
tobacco
.
Charity
’
s
heart
sank
.
Old
derided
tales
of
the
Mountain
people
came
back
to
her
,
and
the
woman
’
s
stare
was
so
disconcerting
,
and
the
face
of
the
sleeping
man
so
sodden
and
bestial
,
that
her
disgust
was
tinged
with
a
vague
dread
.
She
was
not
afraid
for
herself
;
she
knew
the
Hyatts
would
not
be
likely
to
trouble
her
;
but
she
was
not
sure
how
they
would
treat
a
“
city
fellow
.
”
Lucius
Harney
would
certainly
have
laughed
at
her
fears
.
He
glanced
about
the
room
,
uttered
a
general
“
How
are
you
?
”
to
which
no
one
responded
,
and
then
asked
the
younger
woman
if
they
might
take
shelter
till
the
storm
was
over
.
She
turned
her
eyes
away
from
him
and
looked
at
Charity
.
