VI
UNCLE WILLIAM and Benjy had been away all day—up at the new house—and Andy’s wife had sent dinner to them.... They came home in the dusk, hungry and tired. “Harr’et’s cooking ’do ’t to be e’t hot,” said Uncle William. He looked up at his own house. “Hello! somebody’s visitin’ us.”
Benjy’s eye lighted. A glow from the red room shone in the dusk. “It’s the new girl,” he said. They quickened their pace a little.
Uncle William went ahead and opened the door. The little room was full of warm light and the pleasant smell of cooking. By the stove knelt a young girl, her hand on the oven door. She looked up as they came in and closed the door carefully. Then she got to her feet—a little smile on her face. “I’ve come, Mr. Benslow,” she said.
“We’re glad to see you,” said Uncle William heartily. He glanced at the table. “‘D you find dishes enough for a meal?”
A little dimple in her cheek came out, and ran away. “I washed a few,” she replied.
Uncle William’s eye ran along the shelf over the sink. “You’ve done ’em all!”
“Not quite—I put some of them outside by the door—pots and kettles and pans—”
“That’s what I fell over,” said Uncle William, “I gen’ally keep ’em under the sink—out o’ sight—kind of—?” He looked at her.
“I saw where you kept them.” She had dear, searching eyes and quick little movements that ran ahead of her and did things for her. “Supper is ready,” she said. “The biscuit are just right.” She took the biscuit from the oven and set chairs for them at the table and flitted about, with quick, soft steps. Juno, on her lounge, huddled herself a little and turned her halfshut eyes on the swish of skirts. By and by she got down and came over to Uncle William.