This was the living-room, rather gloomy in the corners, and bare, but comfortable, for all simple needs.
The logs were new and the chinks between them filled with clay, still white, showing that the house was of recent build.
The rancher, Belllounds, sat in his easy-chair before the fire, his big, horny hands extended to the warmth.

He was in his shirt-sleeves, a gray, bold-faced man, of over sixty years, still muscular and rugged.
At Columbine's entrance he raised his drooping head, and so removed the suggestion of sadness in his posture.
"Wal, lass, hyar you are," was his greeting.

"Jake has been hollerin' thet chuck was ready.

Now we can eat." "Dad--did--did your son come ?" asked Columbine.
"No.

I got word jest at sundown.