"Wal,—we ain't all right," said Tunk, pointing to the room. "If you can conquer that thing, you'll do well. Poor Miss Teeshy!" he added, shaking his head.
"What's the matter with her?" Trove inquired.
"Kicked in the stummick 'til she dunno where she is," said Tunk, gloomily.
He pulled off his boots.
"If she don't go lame t'morrer, I'll miss my guess," he added. "She looks a good deal like Deacon Haskins after he had milked the brindle cow."
He leaned back, one foot upon the stove-hearth. Shrill cries rang in the old house.
"'Druther 'twould hev been a painter," said Tunk, sighing.
"Why so?"
"More used to 'em," said Tunk, sadly.
They listened a while longer without speaking.