Tom seized the water bucket and started for the door.
"Where are you going?" she cried in dismay.
"I'll jest run down to the spring fer a fresh bucket——"
"O Tom!" she exclaimed.
"I'll be right back in a minute, Honey," he protested softly. "Hit's goin' ter be powerful hot—I'll need a whole bucket time I'm through."
Before she could answer he was gone.
He managed to stay nearly a half hour. She put the baby to sleep and sat waiting with her pensive young eyes gazing at the leaping flames. She heard him stop and answer the call of an owl from the woods. A whip-poor-will was softly singing from the bushes nearby. He stopped to call him also, and then found an excuse to linger ten minutes more fooling with his dogs.
The laggard came at last and dropped on his stool by her side. He sat for five minutes staring helplessly at the copy she had set. Big beads of perspiration stood on his forehead when he took the pen. He held it awkwardly and timidly as if it were a live reptile. She took his clumsy hand in hers and showed him how to hold it.
"My, but yo' hand's soft an' sweet, Nancy,—jest lemme hold that a while——"
She rapped his knuckles.