“Well—mebbe I’ll go down a little while, byme-by. I didn’t leave the Jennie all snug—You want some wood!” He peered into the box.
“I brought some in—while I was waiting.”
“You hadn’t ought to ’a’ done that, Celia—”
“I hadn’t anything else to do,” said the girl, “and I was tired—waiting.” She bent over the sink, scrubbing vigorously at the kettle.
Uncle William glanced at her. “If I was you, I wouldn’t do any more tonight, Celia. I gen’ally chucked ’em under the sink—nights like this—” His gaze sought the window. “You ought to be getting back to Andy’s pretty quick—’fore it gets any darker. The fog’s coming in thick.”
“I’m going—by and by. You through your supper?” She glanced at his plate.
“Yes, I’m through.” He looked at the plate a little guiltily. “It was cooked nice,” he said.
She smiled at him. “You didn’t eat much.” She carried the plate to the sink.
Uncle William took up his hat. “I’ll be going down, I guess.” He went to the door—her glance followed him—
“Uncle William—?”