They had worked all morning and were on their way to the house to dinner when they saw a man coming across the fields toward them. He came from the direction of the farm above, and as he approached they saw he was a youthful foreign-looking chap—probably an Italian and not more than twenty or twenty-one years old. He carried a bundle at the end of a stout stick thrown across his shoulder, and when he had gotten within speaking distance, he called:
"Good-a morn! Do you need-a da mase or-a da carpendero to do-a da work?"
"Oh, you're one of the plumber's men?" asked Bob, thinking perhaps his aunt might have asked to have some men sent out to work on the new cellar under the washroom where the hot-water heater was to go.
"No, I no-a da plumb. I-a da mase and-a da carpendero."
"Oh, you want a job?" asked Bob, catching his meaning.
"Yes-a, da job, but no-a work-a da field. I no-a da farmer—I-a da mase and-a da carpendero."
Bob exchanged glances with his uncle, who shook his head.
"What's your name?" he asked, suddenly turning to the applicant.
"Tony."
"What do you say, Uncle Joe, if we have Tony go down to the house with us and talk the matter over with Aunt Bettie? He might be the man we could use at the sand pit. Besides," he added suddenly, "he might be the very fellow to help build the dairy house—if he understands both carpentry and mason work, he would be a big help."