“Pardon,” said Ichabod. “I was thinking how happy you are.”
“Yes, sir.” And the face reddened again.
Ichabod smiled.
“When is it to be, Ole?”
The big body wriggled in blissful embarrassment.
“As soon as the house is built,”––confusedly.
“You’re building very fast, eh?”
The Swede grinned confirmation. Words were of value to Ole.
“I see the question was superfluous,” and Ichabod likewise smiled in genial comradery. A moment later, however, the smile vanished.
“You’re very content as it is, Ole,” he digressed, equivocally; “but––supposing––Minna were already the wife of a friend?”