"Maybe. I spent a lot of time alone. There's a girl I know that works in the office. Maybe she'll go out in it. Do you think she will?"
"Golly, it's hard sayin' what them critters'll do," Uncle Jeb said. "Take a she bear; you never can tell if she'll run for you or away from you."
Tom seemed to ponder on this shrewd observation.
"Best thing is ter stay up here whar yer sure yer welcome," the old man took occasion to advise him.
"One thing I'm sorry about," Tom said, "and that is that Barnard didn't come. I guess I won't see him."
"He might come yet," Uncle Jeb said; "and he could give yer a hand."
"I'd let him," Tom said, "'cause I'm scared maybe I won't get finished now."
"I'm comin' up ter give yer a hand myself to-morrer," Uncle Jeb said, "and we'll see some chips fly, I reckon. Let's get the fire started."
Uncle Jeb was conscious of a little twinge of remorse that he had not helped his lonely visitor more, but his own duties had taken much of his time lately. He realized now the difficulties that Tom had encountered and surmounted, and he noticed with genuine sympathy that that dogged bulldog nature was beginning to be haunted with fears of not finishing the work in time.
Moreover, in that little talk, Tom had revealed, unwittingly, the two dominant thoughts that were in his mind. One was the hope, the anxiety, never expressed until now, that Barnard would come, and perhaps help him. He had been thinking of this and silently counting on it.