"Of course. I'll send him after dinner. And he can chop you some wood and bring your water."
She stood for a little examining a blue-print tacked on the wall.
"That's like the one Mr. Gretzinger sometimes carries," she remarked. "I suppose he'll be returning one of these days. Not that it matters; he was tiresome at times, like Charlie Menocal." She studied the lines of the map attentively. "He appeared anxious to get to New York. Said something about a sweetheart there. You'll be glad if he doesn't come back to bother you again, won't you, Lee dear?" She swung about, laughing.
"Oh, he'll show up."
"I wasn't sure; he said he thought not."
Lee emptied and put away his pipe.
"He'll come," was his assured reply.
"Then he must have been 'kidding' me."
Her thoughtful air returned. She picked a raveling from her sleeve, and stroked her fur, and inspected the tips of her gloves, and untied and retied the strings of her cap—all with an inscrutable face. Then suddenly her mind appeared to be made up.
"Well, dear, run and bring your car and we'll pick up Imogene," she said, giving him a quick pat on the cheek.