I refrained from meeting Wanza’s eyes. I went to the stove and took the biscuits from the oven with assiduous care. But when we were seated at the table, Wanza in the post of honor at the head, she leaned across the battered tea-things, rapped smartly on the table to attract my attention and demanded:
“What woman did Joey mean by ‘the other woman,’ Mr. Dale?”
I coughed. “Why—er—only a strange lady who stopped at the workshop to enquire if this place were for sale. She saw Russell’s old sign at the crossroads, and, as she explained, thought the hand pointed to Cedar Dale.”
Wanza looked at me intently; an interesting gleam came into her big eyes.
“What sort of a looking person was she, Mr. Dale?”
I reached out, helped myself to a biscuit, spread it with butter, and answered with assumed nonchalance:
“Oh—so so! She went on to Hidden Lake, following my directions.”
Happening to glance across at Joey I surprised a peculiar expression on his face. I saw astonishment written there and a look almost of chagrin in his eyes.
“Why, Mr. David,” he burst forth, “I been thinking sure she was our wonder—”
I saved the situation by springing from my seat and pointing out of the window. “Look, look, Wanza and Joey! There is a willow goldfinch on that little spruce tree yonder. See his yellow body, his black wings and tail! Isn’t he very like a canary? I heard his song this afternoon—I told you, did I not, lad? Hm!—he has the most charming song—sweet as his disposition. And his flight is wonderfully graceful!—the poetry of motion.”