When they were about to go the men filled their cups and drank to Aunt Deel.
I knew, or thought I knew, why they had not mentioned my Uncle Peabody, and was very thoughtful about it. Suddenly the giant Rodney Barnes strode up to the barrel. I remember the lion-like dignity of his face as he turned and said:
"Now, boys, come up here an' stand right before me, every one o' you."
He ranged them in a circle around the barrel. He stood at the spigot and filled every cup. Then he raised his own and said:
"I want ye to drink to Peabody Baynes—one o' the squarest men that ever stood in cowhide."
They drank the toast—not one of them would have dared refuse.
"Now three cheers for the new home and every one that lives in it," he demanded.
They cheered lustily and went away.
Uncle Peabody and I put in the floors and stairway and partitions. More than once in the days we were working together I tried to tell him what Sally had told me, but my courage failed.
We moved our furniture. I remember that Uncle Peabody called it "the houseltree." We had greased paper on the windows for a time after we moved until the sash came. Aunt Deel had made rag carpets for the parlor and the bedroom which opened off it. Our windows looked down into the great valley of the St. Lawrence, stretching northward thirty miles or more from our hilltop. A beautiful grove of sugar maples stood within a stone's throw of the back door.