"Why so mysterious, Cleena? Secrets afoot? But it's after Christmas, not before it."
"Come by."
He followed her gayly down the stairs into the one central cellar, and from this slightly farther into another, being opened toward the side. She carried a lighted candle in her hand, and pointed with pride to the neatness of the work as far as it had proceeded.
"Nobody could ha' done it finer, eh?"
"It seems all right. The walls will have to be supported, of course, though it looks a solid rock. Old Ingraham obeyed the Scripture injunction in letter, if not in spirit. What does Cuthbert think of this?"
"The same as of most things—nothin' at all. So long as he's his bit pictures an' books to pore over, the very house might tumble about his ears an' no heed. There's been no nerve frettin' nor crossness since the mistress was called—not once. He's a saint the now. But it's aye good ye're come home, Mister Fred."
"And it's good to hear you say so, old friend. Yet if it suits you just as well, I'd prefer to have you say it up in the open. I'm not a lover of dark cellars, or of holes that may be cellars some day. Come out of it; it gives me the 'creeps.'"
"Ye believe it's all safe, eh?"
"Safe enough so far."
"Come by. If you like not this place, you must e'en bide the kitchen a bit. I've somewhat to speak to you."