“I'm his niece,” she told him. “Can I help?”
“Well, I dunno. I got a wallop from one o' them logs when we was breakin' that jam, and it's scraped the skin off me arm——”
“Let me see,” cried Nan, earnestly. “Oh! Mr. Vanderwiller! That must be painful. Haven't you anything to put on it?”
“Nothin' but this rag,” grunted Toby, drily. “An' ye needn't call me 'Mister,' Sissy. I ain't useter bein' addressed that way.”
Nan laughed; but she quickly washed the scraped patch on the old man's arm with clean water and then bound her own handkerchief over the abrasion under the rather doubtful rag that Toby himself supplied.
“You're sure handy, Sissy,” he said, rising and allowing her to help him into the shirt again and on with his coat. “Now I'll hafter toddle along or Tim will give me a call-down. Much obleeged. If ye get inter the tam'rack swamp, come dry-foot weather, stop and see me an' my old woman.”
“Oh! I'd love to, Mr. Vanderwiller,” Nan cried. “The swamp must be full of just lovely flowers now.”
The old man's face wrinkled into a smile, the first she had seen upon it. Really! He was not a bad looking man, after all.
“You fond of posies, sissy?” he asked.
“Indeed I am!” she cried.