"It will make a difference I shall not like, Cale. There 'll be no more cosy evening-ends with porridge, after the lord of the manor comes."
"What's that you say?" Jamie was roused at last. I thought I could do it.
"Nothing in particular; only Cale and I were saying how different it would be when Mr. Ewart comes."
"You bet it will!" said Jamie emphatically. "You won't know this house,"—he took up his porridge,—"and Ewart won't know it either since you 've had your hand on it, Marcia." This I perceived to be a sop.
"Thet's so," said Cale, with emphasis. "I never see what a difference all thet calico an' fixin's has made; an' my room looks as warm with them red blankets and foot-rugs! It beats me how a woman can take an old house like this, an' make it look as if it had been lived in always. I thank you," he said, looking hard at me, "fer all the comfort you 've worked inter my room."
"You have n't thanked me the way I want to be thanked, Cale," I said, smiling up at him.
"I done the best I could," he replied with such a crestfallen air that we laughed.
"The only way you can thank me is to call me 'Marcia'. I 've wanted to ask you to, ever since our first drive together up from the steamboat landing."
"Sho!—Have you?"
He looked at me intently for a minute; then he spoke slowly and we all knew with deep feeling: "You 're name 's all right; but you've made such a lot of happiness in this house since you come, I 'd like ter have my own name fer you—"