“Was you wantin’ me, sir?”
“Yes, Joe. I mean to build a cabin on the island this fall. Remson will do it. I saw him yesterday. He wants you to get out a lot of squared lumber. Can you do it?”
“Yes.”
“I will give you the measurements before I leave. It will be a pretty good job for you. Mind you pick out good stuff.”
“I will; no fear of that. Want some water, sir?”
“Yes.”
Joe let down the bucket, and brought it up brimming. He set it on the rim of the well. Meanwhile Carington sat on the ledge, and, tilting the bucket, wetted his handkerchief and wiped his brow.
“That’s jolly good. By George, but I am warm! I have had a hard tramp.” As he completed this brief refreshing of the outer man, he looked up, and for a moment considered the scaffold of big bones on which time and care had left Susan Colkett but a minimum amount of flesh.
He took no more deliberate notice than do most people of the features, which gave him, however, in their general effect, a sense of strangeness and of vague discomfort. The eyes were too big, and, like the cheek-bones, too red, the features large. Beside her the stout husband, muscular and not unkindly of look, presented an odd contrast. There did not seem much harm in him, and how miserably poor they must be!
“Come over soon,” said Carington; “I will tell you then more precisely what I want.”