POLLY went down the steps and along the driveway to the barn. Hiram was sitting on a long bench just inside the door, rubbing and polishing some silvery bells. He looked at Polly with a broad and hospitable smile.
“It appeared to me ’twas about time we got acquainted,” he remarked, sociably. “I had some expectations you might drop in on me come milking time last night, but I suppose you had other engagements. Can you spare time to sit awhile? Your friends seem to feel to home,” said Hiram, with a wave of his hand toward Snip and Snap, who had followed Polly and were racing up the steep stairs to the hay loft.
“I can stay till Miss Pomeroy wants me,” said Polly, delightedly, as she slid onto the end of the bench. “Is there room for me here, Mr. Hiram?”
IS THERE ANY ROOM FOR ME HERE?
“Let’s see,” said Hiram, gravely, taking a foot rule from his pocket and measuring the distance between Polly and some bells lying beside him on the bench. “There’s most a yard leeway; if you don’t wriggle more’n twelve inches this way there’ll be no trouble.”
Hiram closed the rule and put it in his pocket. As he did this Polly heard a subdued chuckle. She clasped her arms about her knees and rocked back and forth on the fence, laughing gayly.
“Oh, you’re some like Uncle Sam Blodgett!” she cried, as Hiram looked at her in pretended alarm. “That’s the way he used to talk to me, all solemn, but with the fun inside of him. Oh, I like folks that talk like you and Uncle Blodgett!”
Hiram rose from the bench, and made a low bow to Polly, the bells jingling in his hands.