"Um-hm," she observed, with a nod of comprehension. "I thought that was it. You did it once before, you know. It was a ex-eccen- trick, leaving it locked was, I guess. Don't you think it was a— a—one of those kind of tricks, Uncle Jed?"
Silence, except for the hum and rasp of the lathe.
"Don't you, Uncle Jed?" repeated Barbara.
"Eh? . . . Oh, yes, I presume likely so."
Babbie, sitting on the lumber pile, kicked her small heels together and regarded him with speculative interest.
"Uncle Jed," she said, after a few moments of silent consideration, "what do you suppose Petunia told me just now?"
No answer.
"What do you suppose Petunia told me?" repeated Babbie. "Something about you 'twas, Uncle Jed."
Still Jed did not reply. His silence was not deliberate; he had been so absorbed in his own pessimistic musings that he had not heard the question, that was all. Barbara tried again.
"She told me she guessed you had been thinking AWF'LY hard about something this time, else you wouldn't have so many eccen-tricks to-day."