“Supper is ready,” Miss Lucinda said, and this time the boy washed his hands without special order.
“Say,” he cried, waving the roller, “Josh’s goin’ to teach me how to milk, and you won’t have to hire him any more. I kin do everything’s well as not, can’t I, Josh?” But Joshua had, fortunately, gone and did not hear this threat to usurp his position.
“Well, you do have orful good meals,” he said, sitting down opposite Miss Lucinda’s handsome, severe figure. “I’m orful hungry, but I did have the dandiest time to-day you ever heard of. The potatoes didn’t roast very well, but the fire burned like fun. My Jiminy—”
“James!” called Miss Lucinda in an awful voice.
James opened his innocent eyes and looked at her, then fell to eating with renewed vigor, and it was some time before he mustered courage to finish his recital.
But when he came out into the kitchen and watched her moving back and forth in the dusky light, Miss Lucinda somehow felt herself moved to open conversation.
“You didn’t eat so very much for supper, James.”
“No, marm,” James answered promptly. “Don’t you remember them potatoes? I was a-payin’ for ’em.”
“Mercy on us!” cried Miss Lucinda, and she went to the dining-room and brought from the table the currant pie, of which the boy, to Miss Lucinda’s amazement, had eaten only two pieces.
He ate the third generous slice she gave him, and again sat still, watching her with round, admiring eyes as she moved about.