“What a quaint setting!” she observed.
Thomason jerked his needle through a tough place and pulled it out to arm’s length, holding his head with painful sedateness, on account of the glasses. He seemed afraid to glance to left or right. He made no reply at all.
“I’ve been learning to use a needle, too,” she confided, thinking that he did not do it very skilfully.
Thomason held his head as far back as possible and closed one eye. He was thus handicapping himself, it appeared, in order to get a better view of the work he held on his knee.
“Would you like me to hold it, while you go across the room to look?” she asked.
Thomason suddenly became quite rigid. It was as if his works had run down. He was thinking about what Bonnie May had said.
Then, “Women!” he muttered, and the works seemed to have been wound up again.
Thomason jerked his needle through a tough place and pulled it out to arm’s length.
This seemed a somewhat indefinite and meagre return for so much cheerful effort, and Bonnie May decided not to try any more just then. She went to the gable window and looked out. She was almost on a level with the fourth story of the building next door, which had been remodelled for use as a boarding-house. And looking up into the window nearest her, she suddenly became animated in the most extraordinary manner.