Polly nodded shyly, smiling for the first time.
“Why, how fine they are! All the beading and the stitchery and the soft doeskin! I declare, they might have been made by a squaw.”
Again Granny hushed him with a quick gesture, and Ezra bit his lip.
“Well, I must be off. At this rate ’twill be dusk before I leave, and I meant to reach Cook’s before moonrise. We make an early start.” He laid the moccasins on a shelf.
Polly watched him wistfully. “You—you will not take them?”
Ezra laughed. “No, no, they’re too fine for this journey; the old ones are good enough. I’ll save them for special occasions—more christenings, perhaps!” He laughed again, slyly, kissed her close, and went out of the door with a backward wave of the hand.
Granny hobbled to the threshold and watched him over Polly’s shoulder.
“There, he’s turned to wave again. What a foolish, loving, dear lad it is! Answer him, girl, quick! You might never see him more.” She checked herself. “Whatever am I croaking about? Such days are gone.”
Polly waved a listless hand, closed the door, looked a moment at the moccasins on the shelf, and seated herself at the spinning wheel.
“Now you’ve shut the door, and shut out all the light with it,” Granny said rather testily. “’Tis nearly dark, and candles are skeerce. Besides, the sunset’s pretty, I like to watch it. Let the door stay open!”