"I couldn't think of it," I said. "I've imposed on you enough."

"It's a plumb pleasure to have you," he said. "A new face to talk with ain't something that comes along too often. Me and Maw, we just sit and look at one another. We ain't got a thing to say. We've jawed at one another so long we have said it all."

He filled my glass and shoved it across the table. "Wrap yourself around that," he told me, "and be thankful you got shelter on a night like this and I don't want to hear no more about leaving here until morning comes."

I picked up the glass and had a good long drink and I must admit that the idea of not going out into the storm had some attraction for me.

"There is some advantage, after all," said Paw, "to not having a dog to go out after possum, although I must admit I sorrily miss old Preacher. But not having any dog gives you a lot more sitting time and I don't suppose a young sprout like you appreciates it, but sitting time is the most valuable there is. You do a lot of thinking and you do a lot of dreaming and you're a better man for it. Most of the skunks you run across get that way because they don't take no sitting time. They're everlastingly on the push and they are running all the time and they think they're running after something, but mostly they are running from themselves."

"I think you're right," I said, thinking of myself. "I think you're entirely right."

I had another drink and it felt so good I had another one.

"Here, young fellow," said Paw, "hold out that glass of yours. You're running kind of low."

I held out the glass and the jug gurgled and the glass was full again.

"Here we sit," said Paw, "as snug as bugs and ain't a tarnation thing to do except to sit here and do some friendly drinking and a little talking and pay time no heed. Time," he said, "is a man's best friend if he makes good use of it and a man's worst enemy if he lets it run him. Most people who live by the clock are miserable sorts of critters. But living by the sun, that is something different."