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two feet from the butt end and sank the axe into the wood.
    He worked easily, letting the weight of the axehead carry the bite. He had cut four sections before he stopped to rest. He looked at what he was doing and then he looked at the sun. He stood the axe against the stump and returned to the shed to look for the negro but he wasn’t there. He crossed the yard to the kitchen door again and knocked. When she opened it he could smell cooking. I wonder could I see the squire a minute, he said.
    The squire came to the door and peered out at him as if dim of recollection. What? he said. A saw? I thought you was done.
    No sir, not yet. I thought maybe it might go a little quicker with a saw.
    The squire watched him as if awaiting some further explanation. Holme looked down at his feet. Across the doorsill in the rich aura of cookery the squire’s figure reared silently out of a pair of new veal boots.
    Just a little old bucksaw or somethin, Holme said.
    They ain’t no saw, the squire said. It’s broke.
    Well.
    I thought you hired out as a axe-hand.
    Holme looked up at him.
    Wasn’t that what you hired out for?
    Yessir, Holme said. I reckon. He looked at the squire to see if he might be smiling but the squire wasn’t smiling.
    Was there anything else you wanted?
    No sir. I reckon not.
    Well.
    Well, Holme said. I’ll get on back to it.
    The squire said nothing. Holme turned and started back across the yard. As he passed through the gate he looked back. The squire had not moved. He stood rigid and upright in the coffin-sized doorway with no expression, no hint of a smile, no list to his bearing.
    He worked on through the afternoon while shadow of post and tree drew lean and black across the grass. It was full evening before he was done. He stacked the last pieces and shouldered the axe and went on across the lot toward the shed. This time the negro was there and he handed him the axe, still neither of them speaking, and went to the door of the house again and knocked for the third time this day.
    I won’t even ast if you’re done, the squire said.
    All right.
    All right. Well. I reckon you’re hungry ain’t ye?
    Some.
    I reckon you just eat twice a day. Or is it once?
    Why? Holme said.
    You never ate no dinner as I know of.
    I wasn’t offered none.
    You never ast for none.
    Holme was silent.
    You never ast for nothin.
    I just come huntin work, Holme said.
    The squire hauled by its long chain a watch from somewhere in his coat, snapped it open and glanced at it and put it away. It’s near six o’clock, he said. Likin about three minutes. How much time would you say you put in on that job?
    I don’t know, Holme said. I don’t know what time it was I commenced.
    Is that right? Don’t know?
    No sir.
    Well it was just before dinner. And now it’s just before supper. That’s the best part of half a day. Ain’t it?
    I reckon, he said.
    The squire leaned slightly forward. For your supper? he said.
    Holme was silent.
    So I reckon a full day would be for dinner and supper. Still ain’t said nothin about breakfast. Let alone a place to sleep. Not even to mention money.
    You was the one, Holme said. You said what …
    And you was the one said all right. Come on man. What is it you’ve done. Where are you runnin from? Heh?
    I ain’t runnin from nowheres.
    No? You ain’t? Where you from? I never ast you that, did I?
    I come from down on the Chicken River.
    No, the squire said. My wife’s people was from down thataway little as I like to say it.
    I just lived there this past little while. I never claimed to of been borned there.
    Before that then. Where did you live before?
    I come from downstate.
    I bet you do at that, the squire said. And then you come up here. Or down in Johnson County. And now you up here. What is it? You like to travel? When did you eat last if it’s any of my business.
    I et this mornin.
    This mornin. Out of somebody’s garden most likely.
    I got money, Holme said.
    I won’t ast ye where you come