The other occupants of the craft might at a glance be seen to be “furrin,” as the local phrase would go. A stout, middle-aged man, florid of face, exceedingly well clad, immaculate as to collar, cuffs and shirt bosom, sat in the bow, looking anxiously ahead. Midships was a yet more extraordinary figure for that locality—a young woman, perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five years of age, nicely turned out in tailor-made traveling suit, and wearing gloves, apparel unheard of for a woman in the mountains. Of extremely beautiful face was she, with large, somber gray eyes, defined strongly by the dark brows above them, and a mouth of exceeding sweetness, which softened the grave repose of her features. Withal, a figure of striking comeliness and grace for any surroundings, she was a miracle, an apparition, here in this rude hill town. Joslin had never seen her like nor dreamed it She was a creature of another world.
It bid fair to be a clumsy landing on the part of the steersman, who seemed none too well accustomed to his task. “Damn it! Look out!” irritably called the man in the bow. “You’ll have us over yet. Lend a hand there, can’t you?”
His last remark was addressed to Joslin, who without noting the imperative nature of the words, at once dropped his armful of slabs, and hurried to the edge of the wharf, steadying the bow of the boat as it came in. He made fast the painter at a projecting bit of the wharf floor, and went so far as to steady the stranger by the arm, as he clumsily stepped out from the boat. The latter himself gave a hand to the other passenger.
“Well, here we are, Marcia,” said he; “end of the world, anyway as far as I’ve been myself before. So we’re even at that, anyhow.”
“Well, stranger,” said he, turning once more to Joslin, “who are you?”
Joslin knew that he was meeting none other than the “quality folks,” Mr. and Mrs. Haddon of New York—the man whose coat and shoes he was at that time wearing. But with his genius at reticence, he made no comment..
“I jest come down from the Widow Dunham’s to git a little firewood,” said he. “Kin I hep ye up with any of yore things, ma’am?”
The strangely beautiful young woman stood looking at him gravely and unsmilingly, yet kindly. Instinctively, he recognized the soul of a real gentlewoman.