“Mother,” said he abruptly, at last, “I've met the girl I want for my wife.”
Grandma Orde sat up in bed.
“Who is she?” she demanded.
“Her name is Carroll Bishop,” said Orde, “and she's visiting Jane Hubbard.”
“Yes, but WHO is she?” insisted Grandma Orde. “Where is she from?”
Orde stared at her in the dim light.
“Why, mother,” he repeated for the second time that day, “blest if I know that!”
X
Orde was up and out at six o'clock the following morning. By eight he had reported for work at Daly's mill, where, with the assistance of a portion of the river crew, he was occupied in sorting the logs in the booms. Not until six o'clock in the evening did the whistle blow for the shut-down. Then he hastened home, to find that Newmark had preceded him by some few moments and was engaged in conversation with Grandma Orde. The young man was talking easily, though rather precisely and with brevity. He nodded to Orde and finished his remark.