"So say we all of us.— Hark, hear that wind!" said Jamie.
The stove was of soapstone, square, with hinged top that, opening upward, gave room for the insertion of a "chunk"—a huge, unsplittable, knotty piece of maple, birch, or beech. Cale came in with one while we were listening to the roar of the gale; it was a section of a maple butt.
"There, thet 'll last all night an' inter the forenoon," he said, lowering it carefully into the glowing brands in the box. "I 'll shet up the drafts, an' you 'll have a small furnace with no dust nor dirt to bother with; an' the ashes is good fertilizer—can't be beat for clover."
"Let's take a household vote on the subject of modern improvements for the manor," said Mr. Ewart, helping himself to a cigar and then passing the box to Cale who had turned to leave the room.
Cale took one with an "I thank you" this being a habit of speech to emphasize the last word, and was about to go out.
"Stay a while with us, Cale," said Mr. Ewart, speaking as a matter of course; "I want the opinion of every member of my household—my Anglo-Saxon one, I mean."
The two men stood facing each other, and between them I saw a look pass that bespoke mutual confidence. I thought they must have made rapid progress in one short day.
"Wal, I don't mind if I do. It's flatterin' to a man, say what you 've a mind ter, ter have his advice asked on any subject—let alone what interests him."
"That's a fine back-handed compliment for you, Ewart," said Jamie, whose delight in Cale's acquiescence was very evident.
"I took it so," said Mr. Ewart quietly, drawing up a chair beside his and motioning to Cale who, after a slight hesitation, sat down.