“I'll cut wood for you.” She followed him out to the wood-pile and then she turned and went into the house. Presently the sound of his axe rang through the woods, and as he stooped to gather up the wood, he heard a creaking sound. June was drawing water at the well, and he rushed toward her:
“Here, you mustn't do that.”
She flashed a happy smile at him.
“You just go back and get that wood. I reckon,” she used the word purposely, “I've done this afore.” Her strong bare arms were pulling the leaking moss-covered old bucket swiftly up, hand under hand—so he got the wood while she emptied the bucket into a pail, and together they went laughing into the kitchen, and while he built the fire, June got out the coffee-grinder and the meal to mix, and settled herself with the grinder in her lap.
“Oh, isn't it fun?” She stopped grinding suddenly.
“What would the neighbours say?”
“We haven't any.”
“But if we had!”
“Terrible!” said Hale with mock solemnity.
“I wonder if Uncle Billy is at home,” Hale trembled at his luck. “That's a good idea. I'll ride down for him while you're getting supper.”