Then I thought of the Little Girl.
"You seem to be a likely fellow, Hayne, and you are not continually asking why the sun rises in the East. That stands for any foolish boy question. I half engaged a young fellow yesterday, Sim Chase; his father is deacon in the church, but he hasn't put in any appearance yet. I shouldn't like to go back on his father. Tell you what I'll do. You come in Sat'day and I'll know then."
"I should like very much to have the place," I ventured; standing on one foot, boy fashion.
He gave a funny twinkle with one eye and said, "Oh, I guess it'll be all right."
I went off with a light heart. It was not far to the Gaynors'. A load of lumber had come and two men were laying a foundation driving piles. Mr. Gaynor was giving orders here and there. Few things escaped his sharp eye. But he only said to me with a curt sort of nod, "Go round there and see if you can't help Ruth."
I was only too glad. She was trying to make the fire burn, and the smoke had filled her eyes with tears. The wood was rather damp and dozy. I looked around for some dry brush; we were not a well-wooded country, and presently I had a cheerful blaze.
"What are you going to have for dinner?" I asked. "Or have you had it?"
"No; father brought in some potatoes and some fish. I can't bear to touch raw fish," and she shuddered.
"Have you any sort of a kettle?"
"Only this," and she exhumed a long-handled stewing pipkin, that the folks farther south called piggins.