Her laugh scanned the bit of paper. “I can put it behind the clock—if he wants it there—” She walked over and tucked it away. “But I think it’s a funny idea,” she said.
“So do I,” said George.
“Will you sit down?” She motioned to the disorderly room.
“I’ve got to go,” he replied. He looked about him—sitting down.
A little smile played through Celia’s face and ran away. “I didn’t thank you for carrying the potatoes for me—that night—” she said politely. “You went off so quick I didn’t get a chance.”
“I’m going mackereling tomorrow,” responded George.
“You are!” Her eyes opened. “Did Mr. Bodet say you could?”
His face darkened. “I’d have gone before—so far as he is concerned.” He straightened himself a little.
“Oh—I—thought—he didn’t want you to go.”
“He didn’t—but that isn’t what kept me.”