Uncle William’s face fell. “I did kind o’ forget—” The door opened and Benjy came out—yawning, but brisk. “Well, we’ve got a good start,” he said. He nodded to the girl and sat down.
Uncle William looked relieved. “I thought you ’d kind o’ mind getting up so early?” he said.
Bodet laughed out. “I don’t mind getting up—It’s waiting for breakfast that I mind.”
Uncle William looked out of the window. “I go kind o’ slow on breakfasts,” he admitted. He craned his neck a little—“Guess George is going out.” He glanced behind him. The girl had stepped outside the door a minute and Uncle William leaned forward with a confidential whisper, “She ’d make a dretful good wife for a young man, wouldn’t she!”
“You ’d better eat your breakfast, William—and be thankful,” said Bodet severely.
Uncle William made no reply. A look of deep craft was in his eye. When Bodet started off, he lingered behind.
“I’ll be’long byme-by, Benjy,” he said. He nodded to him kindly. “You go tell Ordway what you want and I’ll talk to him ’bout it when I come. I reckon he ’ll do it the way you want it,” he said hopefully.
Bodet disappeared up the road, and Uncle William pottered about the door. By and by he went in.
The girl glanced up quickly. “I thought you ’d gone.”
“No, I ain’t gone.” Uncle William’s tone was cheerful. “The’s two-three little things I want to tend to.” He strayed into the bedroom and when he came out she was seated by the window paring potatoes. “I’ll have to soak ’em an hour,” she said briskly, “You ought to buy some new ones.”