"Go on," she said coolly. "I guess you got ot'er shirt on, too."
The blue flannel shirt joined the coat beside the fire.
She handed him a towel to dry his hair with. Afterward she produced a comb.
"I comb your hair nice," she said.
Sam started away in a panic and held out his hand for the comb. Bela let him have it with a regretful look at the thick, bright hair. She started to brew tea.
"Don't be mad wit' me for 'cause I laugh," she said cajolingly. "Some tam, maybe, I fall in water. I let you laugh all you want."
He looked at her startled. He dared not glance forward at any future with her. Nevertheless, in spite of himself, he was relenting. He would have relented quicker had she not continually put him out of conceit with himself by making him blush. Naturally, he blamed her for that.
Meanwhile there was delicious bodily comfort in sitting under shelter of the willows, warmed on the outside by the generous sunshine and the crackling fire, and made all mellow within by hot tea. The corners of his mouth began to turn up.
His curiosity concerning her was still active. Remembering something she had said before, he asked: "Who is Musgooses?"
She smiled at his pronunciation.