"'Tis strange—wonderful strange, an' I can't make un out."
He arose and knocked the ashes out of his pipe, filled the stove with wood, and then looked out into the night before going to his bunk. It was snowing thick and fast.
"'Tis well to-morrow's Sunday," he remarked. "The's nasty weather comin'."
"That they is," said a voice so close to his elbow that he started back in surprise,
"Why, hello, Ed. You were givin' me a rare start, sneakin' in as quiet's a rabbit. How is un?"
"Fine," said Ed, who had just come around the corner of the tilt in time to hear Dick's remark in reference to the weather. "Who un talkin' to?"
"To a sensible man as agrees wi' me," answered Dick facetiously. "A feller does get wonderful lonesome seem' no one an' has t' talk t' hisself sometimes."
The two entered the tilt and Ed threw off his adikey while Dick put the kettle over.
"Well," asked Dick, when Ed was finally seated, "how'd th' mother take un?"
"Rare hard on th' start off," said Ed. "'Twere th' hardest thing I ever done, tellin' she, an' 'twere all I could do t' keep from breakin' down myself. I 'most cried, I were feelin so bad for un.