“That child will come to no good end,” she said to Nathan, when he re-entered.
“She won’t,” agreed Nathan with some asperity; his waistcoat and shirt were drenched. He had asked Sally rashly to pour a dipper of water on his head to “rense him off.” Sally complied with alacrity, only she emptied a pailful over his bent head instead of a dipperful.
“Drat that young ’un,” said Temperance, enraged at this. “I believe, I really do, that Mrs. Didymus sent her over here to be shet of her for a day, and if this is a sample of her doin’s I don’t know as I blame Mrs. Didymus, but if there’s any more goin’s on I’ll trapse her back quicker.”
By this time the roast was out of the oven, and Nathan began his work with the enthusiasm of an artist.
Nathan was always greatly in demand when there was any carving to be done, and he was very proud in a candid childish way of his proficiency. Perhaps his practice with the plane and the drawknife stood him in good stead, for certainly Temperance was justified in thinking proudly that no man could carve like her Nat.
“They’ve blew,” announced Sally, tumbling into the kitchen in great excitement. This was somewhat unnecessary information as the whistle was making itself perfectly audible; ere its shrill echo died away the men, begrimed and laughing, came round the corner of the barn and were soon spluttering in the basins.
Lanty came into the back kitchen, but the voice of one of the men brought him out of his retreat, and in five minutes they were all at table.
Old Lansing at one end with Sidney at one side. Lanty at the other end with Nathan beside him.
“Open the ball, Nat,” said Lanty, passing Nathan the platter. Nathan helped himself with the deprecating modesty of one compelled to pronounce judgment upon his own handiwork; then the platter made the round of the table in pursuit of the one which had started from Mr. Lansing’s end.
“Guess you had something to do with this, Nat,” said Ab Ranger. “I know your shavings.”