"How do you do?" she said.
Jed regarded her in silence for a moment. Then, "Why, I'm fair to middlin' smart just at present," he drawled. "How do YOU find yourself to-day?"
The young lady's answer was prompt and to the point. "I'm nicely, thank you," she replied, and added: "I was sick at my stomach yesterday, though."
This bit of personal information being quite unexpected, Mr. Winslow scarcely knew what comment to make in reply to it.
"Sho!" he exclaimed. "Was you, though?"
"Yes. Mamma says she is 'clined to think it was the two whole bananas and the choc'late creams, but I think it was the fried potatoes. I was sick twice—no, three times. Please, I asked you something. Are you the windmill man?"
Jed, by this time very much amused, looked her over once more. She was a pretty little thing, although just at this time it is doubtful if any of her family or those closely associated with her would have admitted it. Her face was not too clean, her frock was soiled and mussed, her curls had been blown into a tangle and there were smooches, Jed guessed them to be blackberry stains, on her hands, around her mouth and even across her small nose. She had a doll, its raiment in about the same condition as her own, tucked under one arm. Hat she had none.
Mr. Winslow inspected her in his accustomed deliberate fashion.
"Guess you've been havin' a pretty good time, haven't you?" he inquired.
The small visitor's answer was given with dignity.