He turned and surveyed the three windows that were visible in the bit of a house.
“They wouldn’t both be gone, ‘n’ left them apples out,” he said to himself. “I’m ‘bout sure Ann’s to home; ‘n’ she’s the one I want to see.”
A woman in the bed-room which opened from the kitchen was hurriedly smoothing her hair and peering into the glass. She was speaking aloud with the air of one who constantly talks to herself.
“Jest as sure’s I don’t comb my hair the first thing, somebody comes.”
She gave a last pat and went to the door. There was a faint smirk on her lips and a flush on her face.
Her tall figure was swayed by a slight, eager tremor as she saw who was standing there. She exclaimed:—
“Goodness me! ‘T ain’t you, Mr. Baker, is it? Won’t ye walk right in? But I don’t want no termarters; they always go aginst me. Aunt Mandany ain’t to home.”
“Oh, ain’t she?” was the brisk response. “Then I guess I will come in.”
The speaker pushed open the now unfastened door and entered. He set his basket of tomatoes with a thump on the rug, and wiped his broad, red face.
“Fact is,” he said with a grin, “I knew she was gone. I seen her goin’ crosst the pastur’. That’s why I come now. I ain’t got no longin’ to see Aunt Mandany—no, sir-ee, not a grain of longin’ to see her. But I thought ‘t would be agreeable to me to clap my eyes on to you.”