That Girl of Johnson's — page 20: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THAT GIRL OF JOHNSON’S. 9 The smith’s face was grimy ; the perspiration stood out on it in great drops; the sinews of his arms were like knotted cords; he swung the hammer with ease and strength. Green watched him; Green was town bred; he had a college education, and his friends were to a certain extent like all other young fellows, fond of hunting and all athletic sports, but a strength like this man’s he had never before seen. Green was a man, and men admire strength. He looked at the blacksmith’s face. It was full of lines and black with the grime from the iron, The glow of the fire was upon it. Green’s eyes were keen and quick to note character. There was nothing striking in the man’s face; if anything it was even duller than the majority of faces in the settle- ment. The mouth was sullen under the scant gray mus- tache ; the eyes were small, and showed a possible cruelty of nature—brute cruelty; the forehead was low and nar- row. There was not an intellectual line in the face. A wrinkle of puzzled thought appeared between the young man’s brows. He turned and looked long and earnestly up the path that led to the tiny unpainted house set in its dreary garden a short distance up the mountain. Dolores was standing in the door-way, her arms hanging down in front of her, her fingers clasped listlessly together. The sunlight was on her dark head; her brown eyes were looking straight before her, and there was a light in her face that fairly transformed it. Usually there was little light in her face. Her lips were parted as though she had been speaking of pleasant things. The young fellow turned back into the shop. The black- smith’s hammer had ceased its clanking on the red-hot iron; he was EhHne a shoe to the slender hoof. He glanced up. “Ded ye get ther water ?” he queried, in. listless curiosity. ‘“Wer D’lores thar ?” ‘Ves, ” COmMmicbooks:;co m