“An' Siss here, too,” commented Ni, with provoking disregard for the farmer's suggestions; “a reg'lar family party. An', hello!”
His roving eye had fallen upon the recumbent form on the made-up bed, under the muffling blankets, and he lifted his sandy wisps of eyebrows in inquiry.
“Sh! It's father,” explained Esther. “He isn't feeling very well. I think he's asleep.”
The boy's freckled, whimsical face melted upon reflection into a distinct grin. “Why,” he said, “you've been havin' a reg'lar old love-feast up here. I guess it was that that set the house on fire! An' speakin' o' feasts, if you've got a mouthful o' somethin' to eat handy—”
The women were off like a shot to the impromptu larder at the far end of the barn.
“Well, thin,” put in Hurley, taking advantage of their absence, “an' had ye the luck to see anny rale fightin'?”
“Never mind that,” said Abner; “when he gits around to it he'll tell us everything. But, fust of all—why, he knows what I want to hear about.”
“Why, the last time I talked with you, Abner—” Ni began, squinting up one of his eyes and giving a quaint drawl to his words.
“That's a good while ago,” said the farmer, quietly.
“Things have took a change, eh?” inquired Ni.