Just now, moreover, Carolyn May had something else in her mind; so she ignored Mr. Parlow’s remark about the seamstress. She asked in a half-whisper:
“Mr. Parlow, did you hear about what happened yesterday?”
“Eh?” he queried, eyeing her quizzically. “Does anything ever happen on Sunday?”
“Something did on this Sunday,” cried the little girl. “Didn’t you hear about the snake?”
“What d’ye mean—snake? The old original snake—that sarpint ye read about in the Scriptures?” demanded the carpenter, ruffling up his grey hair till it looked like the topknot of a very cross cockatoo.
“Oh, no, Mr. Parlow!” and then little Carolyn May explained. She told the story with such earnestness that he stopped working to listen, watching her with as shrewd, sharp eyes as ever a real cockatoo possessed.
“Humph!” was his grunted comment at the end. “Well!”
“Don’t you think that was real exciting?” asked Carolyn May. “And just see how it almost brought my Uncle Joe and your Miss Amanda together. Don’t you see?”
Mr. Parlow actually jumped. “What’s that you say, child?” he rasped out grimly. “Bring Mandy and Joe Stagg together? Well, I guess not!”
“Oh, Mr. Parlow, don’t you think that would be just be-a-you-ti-ful?” cried the little girl with a lingering emphasis upon the most important word. “Don’t you see how happy they would be?”