“Yes, yes. Glad to see you. Take off your hat. My sakes! it's pretty wet. How did Laviny come to let you—I mean how'd you come to wear a beaver such a mornin's this?”
Kyan removed the silk hat and inspected its limp grandeur ruefully.
“I—I—” he began. “Well, the fact is, I come out by myself. You see, Laviny's gone up to Sarah B.'s to talk church doin's. I—I—well, I kind of wanted to speak with you about somethin', Keziah, so—Oh! I didn't see you, Gracie. Good mornin'.”
He didn't seem overjoyed to see Miss Van Horne, as it was. In fact, he reddened perceptibly and backed toward the door. The girl, her eyes twinkling, took up her jacket and hat.
“Oh! I'm not going to stop, Mr. Pepper,” she said. “I was only helping Aunt Keziah a little, that's all. I must run on now.”
“Run on—nonsense!” declared Keziah decisively. “You're goin' to stay right here and help us get that stovepipe down. And 'Bishy'll help, too. Won't you, 'Bish?”
The stovepipe was attached to the “air-tight” in the dining room. It—the pipe—rose perpendicularly for a few feet and then extended horizontally, over the high-boy, until it entered the wall. Kyan looked at it and then at his “Sunday clothes.”
“Why, I'd be glad to, of course,” he declared with dubious enthusiasm. “But I don't know's I'll have time. Perhaps I'd better come later and do it. Laviny, she—”
“Oh, Laviny can spare you for a few minutes, I guess; 'specially as she don't know you're out. Better take your coat off, hadn't you? Grace, fetch one of those chairs for Ky—for 'Bishy to stand in.”
Grace obediently brought the chair. It happened to be the one with a rickety leg, but its owner was helping the reluctant Abishai remove the long-tailed blue coat which had been his wedding garment and had adorned his person on occasions of ceremony ever since. She did not notice the chair.