On Monday Casey and his men came. Louisiana and her father were at breakfast when they struck their first blow at the end of the house which was to be renovated first.
The old man, hearing it, started violently—so violently that he almost upset the coffee at his elbow.
He laughed a tremulous sort of laugh.
"Why, I'm narvous!" he said. "Now, jest to think o' me a-bein' narvous!"
"I suppose," said Louisiana, "I am nervous as well. It made me start too. It had such a strange sound."
"Waal, now," he answered, "come to think on it, it hed—sorter. Seems like it wasn't sca'cely nat'ral. P'r'aps that's it."
Neither of them ate much breakfast, and when the meal was over they went out together to look at the workmen. They were very busy tearing off weather-boarding and wrenching out nails. Louisiana watched them with regretful eyes. In secret she was wishing that the low ceilings and painted walls might remain as they were. She had known them so long.
"I am afraid he is doing it to please me," she thought. "He does not believe me when I say I don't want it altered. He would never have had it done for himself."
Her father had seated himself on a pile of plank. He was rubbing his crossed leg as usual, but his hand trembled slightly.
"I druv them nails in myself," he said. "Ianthy wasn't but nineteen. She'd set yere an' watch me. It was two or three months arter we was married. She was mighty proud on it when it was all done. Little Tom he was born in thet thar room. The rest on 'em was born in the front room, 'n' they all died thar. Ianthy she died thar. I'd useder think I should——"