And still Caleb nodded. The room was quiet for a long time.
"Sarah," he murmured at last.
"Yes, Cal," she answered.
"Has that boy's—yarn—set you to thinking a little?"
"It was very interesting and unusual," she admitted. Then she rose and crossed over to his chair and perched herself, with odd, elfish, girlish grace upon its arm.
"Do you mean Old Tom's tin box?" she asked gently.
And he nodded.
"Yes, in part—yes," he said. "But not just that alone, either. I mean everything, Sarah. The way he handles himself; the way he looks one in the face when he is talking. The—the—now what are you grinning over?"
She stroked his sparse hair.
"Cal, you old romancer, you. Who'd ever suspect it in a man of your age and—and avoirdupois!"