“I fixed up the leetle cabin fur you,” replied Avery. “I’ll go ’long out and onlock it. Keep it locked account of skunks comin’ in and makin’ themselves to home.”
As the teamster and Avery went out, Swickey ran to David. “Where be they?” she whispered. “Quick! afore Pop comes!”
He pointed to the package. She broke the string and whisked off the paper. She opened the book, unfortunately for her first impression, at a picture of the “Man Friday,” clothed with “nothing much before and a little less than half of that behind.” A shade of disappointment crossed her eager face. Evidently there were rudiments to master, even in dressmaking. But it was her book. She had earned it, and her face glowed again with the buoyant rapture of childhood as she clasped the volume to her breast and marched to her room. She dropped it quickly on the bed, however, and returned. “I ’most forgot the ‘specs,’” she said self-accusingly. She untied the smaller package and drew them out, “one, two, three, four,” six pair of glittering new glasses. Evidently the potency of money was unlimited. She laid them down, one at a time, after vainly endeavoring to see through them.
“WHERE BE THEY?” SHE WHISPERED
“Your father’s eyes are different,” explained David.
She danced gleefully across the room and back again. Smoke followed her with deliberate strides. He knew they were to be the friends of that establishment. She ran to the bedroom and returned with her book. Assuming a serious demeanor, one leg crossed over the other, book on knee and a pair of glasses perched on her nose, she cleared her throat in imitation of her father.
“Is he comin’?” she asked.
“Yes, I hear him,” replied David.
“S-s-h!” She held up a warning finger.