Mason fixed his eyes on her in his odd fashion, half turning his head aside, and regarding her diagonally.
"Well, Barbara, you're the lost sheep," was his greeting. "I was afraid you wouldn't come back to the flock if I didn't come into the wilderness and look you up."
"There's been such a lot of things to do this week," she answered hurriedly, "I didn't know how to get time to go to school."
This was truthful, but it was far from being frank, and it was not on these terms that Mason wished to meet her. His first thought was to put her more at ease.
"Can't we sit out on the porch?" he said; "I'm warm with walking." And he lifted two of the chairs and carried them to the covered porch. There would soon be no light outside but what came from the night sky, and what a dim candle in the sitting-room, when it should be lighted, might manage to spare through the open door. Hiram had a notion that in this obscurity he could coax Barbara out of the diplomatic mood into the plain indicative. But before they had sat down he had changed his plan.
"Hold on," he said, more to himself than to her; and added, "What were you doing when I came?"
"Only peeling some apples to dry."
"Let me help you; we'll have an apple-peeling all to ourselves."
"No," said Barbara, hesitatingly; but Mason went through the sitting-room and, opening the kitchen door, thrust his head through and said:
"Mayn't I sit out there and help Barbara peel apples, Mrs. Grayson?"