She smiled and spoke,
but her voice was drowned in the yelping of the dogs, which were trying
to climb over the fence to get at the stranger.
There was something admirable, if slightly discourteous, in the
fearless manner in which Westerfelt leaned over the fence and, with the
butt of his riding-whip, struck the animals squarely in the face,
coolly laughing as he did so.
"You, Tige! you, Pomp!" cried the woman, running to them and picking up
sticks and stones and hurling them at the animals, "down thar, I say!"
"They have forgotten me," said Westerfelt, with a laugh, as the dogs
retreated behind the house, and he reached over the ramshackle gate to
shake hands.
"But I hain't, John," she replied, cordially. "I wasn't lookin' fer
you quite so soon, though. I reckon you must 'a' rid purty peert."
"Generally do," he made answer, "though I started early this morning,
and lost half an hour at Long's shop, where I got my horse shod."
"Put up yore animal," she said. "That's the stable thar, an' you know
better how to feed 'im 'an I do. Luke's gone down to the livery-stable
to look atter things fer you, but he'll be back 'fore supper-time.
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