"It ought not to," answered Polly a little uneasily. She was wondering if the woman had deserted her daughter or if any ill could have befallen her. "Aren't you afraid to stay here alone?" she asked.
"No'm. Grandad jest lak a baby an' I kin cook the wittles, but I wisht maw'd git back."
The old man in the chimney corner stirred and looked vacantly toward the visitors. "Fine day," he said, wagging his head, then he added in a confidential whisper, "but they won't find it."
"Now, grandad," chided Daniella, "jest you quit talkin'."
The old man turned again to the fire and mumbled something about no one's ever finding out anything from him. Meanwhile the girls looked around the room. It was fairly clean, though dingy. A four post bedstead over which was a patchwork quilt, stood in one corner; in another was a sort of bunk over which was thrown a hairy robe of skins sewed together; two hickory chairs, a rude stool, a bench, a table made up the rest of the furniture. On a shelf was a pile of dishes and against the wall hung a few cooking utensils. It was by far the simplest establishment the girls had ever been in.
Polly produced the red jacket, known in common parlance by the unpleasant name of "sweater," and Daniella gave an exclamation of pleasure. "Try it on," said Polly, holding it out, and Daniella thrust her arms into the sleeves. She gave no thanks, but her evident delight was sufficient.
"Ef I had a pair of shoes I'd go hunt up maw," she said. "Leastways, I'd go if I could leave the old man."
"The shoes are here, too," said Polly, as she drew from her bag both shoes and stockings.
Daniella straightway plumped down on the floor to try them on. "Shoes never feels good," she said, "but these is the nicest feelin' I ever had. Oh, I wisht maw would come. Do you reckon she could take all this time to sell rabbits? She had twelve of 'em. We trapped 'em, her an' me. She was goin' to take 'em to the sto' and git things fo' 'em, an' then she was comin' back."