A
fire was burning in one corner, and a heavy curtain of tanned skins
could be draped over the wide doorway. Articles of women's apparel
hung on the walls, and others indicating woman's work stood
about. There were also chairs of wicker, and a lounge covered with
haircloth. It was a comfortable place, the most attractive that Robert
had seen in a long time, and his eyes responded to it with a glitter
that Colonel Johnson noticed.
"I don't wonder that you like it, lad," he said. "I've spent some
happy hours here myself, when I came in weary or worn from hunting or
fishing. But sit you down, all three of you. I'll warrant me that
you're weary enough, tramping through this wintry forest. Blunt, shove
the faggots closer together and make up a better fire."
The command was to a white servant who obeyed promptly, but Madame
Johnson herself had already shifted the chairs for the guests, and had
taken their deerskin cloaks. Without ceasing to be the great lady she
moved, nevertheless, with a lightness of foot and a celerity that was
all a daughter of the forest. Robert watched her with fascinated eyes
as she put the summer house in order and made it ready for the comfort
of her guests.
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