"I promised it to her this very day. She was confidin' to me that she finds it lonely up at Rilla, and I don't wonder."
"She've confided the same thing to me several times, off and on," said
Cai.
"Ah?" . . . 'Bias was unmoved. "Then maybe it'll help ye to guess how the land lies."
"It do, more or less," Cai agreed: and then, as a bright thought struck him. "Why shouldn't we lend her the musical box? It's—it's more reliable, any way."
"'Twouldn't be much account as a pet, would it?" retorted 'Bias. "Now look here, Cai!" he swung about in his chair, and for the first time since the conversation started the pair looked one another straight in the eyes. "You an' me'd best come to an understandin' and get it over. I don't mind tellin' you, as man to man, that I've been thinkin' things out; and the upshot is—I don't say 'tis certain, but 'tis probable—that in the near futur' I shall be spendin' a heap o' my time at Rilla."
"You'll be welcome. I can almost answer for it," Cai assured him heartily.
"You've noticed it, eh? . . . Well, that saves a lot o' trouble." With a grunt of relief 'Bias turned his gaze again upon the empty grate and sat smoking for a while. "I'd a sort o' fear it might come on ye sudden . . . eh? What's the matter?" He turned about again, for Cai had emitted an audible groan.
"I'm sorry for ye, 'Bias—you can't think—"
"Oh, you can stow that bachelor chaff," interrupted 'Bias with entire cheerfulness. "I used to feel that way myself, or pretend to. It's different when a man knows."
"I can't let ye go on like this!" Cai groaned again. "Stop it, 'Bias— do!"