The young man stood very straight and stiff, regarding her. “How do you do,” he said.
“Oh, I’m pretty well, thank you.” A little laugh nodded in the words and whisked them away. “I’m very glad to see you,” she said. She looked down at her hands. Then she held out one of them.
The young man marched across and took it—he shook it a little and laid it down. “It’s a nice day,” he said briefly.
She smiled at him—straight and quick. Then she lifted the basket and set it on the table. “I couldn’t ’a’ got it here, ever, if Jim Gunnion’s team hadn’t come along,” she said. She opened the basket. “There’s your pickles—and biscuit—and pie—and cheese—” She set the things on the table, at one side—“and here’s your tablecloth.” She blew the bits of shavings from the bench and spread a red cloth across its width.
Uncle William’s eyes followed her, with a little twinkle—somewhere below them.
“It’s nice not to have to come home to dinner,” said Bodet impersonally.
“Yes, sir—I couldn’t have you all down there to-day. I’m too busy.” She stood back, looking at the table. “That’s all you need—Here’s the salt—and the pepper—and the stew is nice and hot.” She took the lid from the smoking pail and peered in. “I put coals under the pail,” she said. “You want to look out and not set things afire.... I’m going now. You can bring the dishes tonight when you come—” She stood in the door—and was gone.
Uncle William laughed out—and looked at Manning. The young man was regarding him soberly.
“Draw up, George,” said Uncle William, “It looks to me as if the’ was enough for three—easy.”
“I’ve got mine—outside,” said the young man. He lingered a little, apparently examining the bricks in the fireplace.