“No, I guess the water wa’n’t clear enough to see ’em!” The rinsing-water had been emptied, and Mrs. Vaiden was industriously wiping the tub. “I’ve got all the star-fishin’ an’ the crab-ketchin’ I want, an’ I’m a-goin’ to tell that young man that he can go some’ers else for his board. He’s b’en here a month, an’ he’s just about made a fool o’ you. Pret’ soon you’ll be a-thinkin’ you’re too good for Bart Winn.”
“Oh, no,” said Bart Winn’s honest voice in the doorway; “I guess Laviny won’t never be a-thinkin’ that.”
“Mercy!” cried Mrs. Vaiden, starting and coloring guiltily. “That you? How you scairt me! I’m all of a-trimble.”
Bart advanced to Lavinia and kissed her with much tenderness; but instead of blushing, she paled.
“When ’d you come?” she asked, briefly, drawing away, while her mother, muttering something about the sour cream and the spring-house, went out discreetly.
“This mornin’,” said Bart. “I’m a-goin’ to stay home now.”
The girl sat down, taking a pan of potatoes on her lap. “I wonder where the case-knife is,” she said, helplessly.
“I’ll get it,” said Bart, running into the pantry and returning with the knife. “I love to wait on you, Laviny,” he added, with shining eyes. “I guess I’ll get to wait on you a sight, now. I see your paw ’s I come up an’ he said as how I could board hyeer. I’ll do the shores for you—an’ glad to. An’, oh, Laviny! I ’most forgot. I spoke for a buggy ’s I come up, so’s I can take you a-ridin’ to-night.”
“I guess I can’t go,” said Lavinia, holding her head down and paring potatoes as if her life depended upon getting the skins off.
“You can’t? Why can’t you?”