“Ain't you got no fire?” Hunch asked.
“Yes, I made a little fire in the kitchen this morning. I can sit out there, you know. I don't need any in here. Guess we'd better go out there anyhow, where it's warmer.”
“You go ahead,” said Hunch; then, “Where's your wood? I'll make a fire here.”
“Oh, no, you mustn't?”
“Now you just leave me be, Mis' Considine. You set down in the kitchen and lemme fix you up. Where's the wood?”
“It's out here in the box,” said Mamie, opening the kitchen door.
Hunch saw why she was sparing of wood. There were only a few armfuls. But he built a roaring fire in the front room, and then took the ax out into the back yard and split up a heap of boards and timber waste that lay under the snow. Mamie watched him through the window. After a few strokes he grew warm from the exercise, and taking off his coat he handed it through the door to Mamie, and said, “Warm weather, ain't it?” Mamie was smiling when she reappeared at the window. Hunch filled the wood box and laid a large pile on the floor at each end. Then he put on his coat.
“Well,” he said, “that's more like. Pull up a chair, Mis' Considine.”
“You must be hungry, Mr. Badeau, after all that work. I'm going to make you some coffee, anyway.”
“Now, don't you do nothing of the sort. That ain't work? That's just fun.” Unconsciously he expanded his chest as he spoke. In spite of his bent shoulders, it was a deep, rounded chest, different from Bruce's. Mamie did not know that there was admiration in her eyes as she watched him.