"Well, you're here now, anyway," smiled Patty. "Come on in and help me get supper, and then we'll eat. You get the water, while I build the fire."
When the girl returned from the spring, Patty tried again: "While I was in town somebody came here and cooked a meal, and when they got through they washed all the dishes and put them away so nicely I thought sure it was you, and I was glad, because I like to have you come and see me."
"Hit wasn't me," repeated the girl, stubbornly.
"I wonder who it could have been?"
"Mebbe hit was Mr. Christie. He was to our house las' night. He brung Davy some pencils an' a lot o' papers fer to draw pitchers. Pa 'lowed how Davy'd git to foolin' away his time on 'em, an' Mr. Christie says how ef he learnt to drawer good, folks buys 'em, an' then Davy'll git rich. Pa says, whut's folks gonna pay money fer pitchers they kin git 'em fer nothin'? But ef folks gits pitchers they does git rich, don't they?"
"Why, yes——"
"You got pitchers, an' yo' rich."
Patty laughed. "I'm afraid I'm not very rich," she said.
"Will yo' give me a pitcher?"
"Why, yes." She glanced at the few prints that adorned the log wall, trying to make up her mind which she would part with, and deciding upon a mysterious moonlight-on-the-waves effect, lifted it from the wall and placed it in the girl's hands.