“At first he thought he should tell everything.  He did not want to take the position under false pretenses, he said.  But when I explained how he might lose this opportunity and what an opportunity it might be for us all he agreed that perhaps it was best to wait.  And I am sure it is best, Jed.  But then, I mean to put the whole dreadful business from my mind, if I can, and be happy with my little girl and my brother.  And I am happy; I feel almost like a girl myself.  So you mustn’t remind me, Jed, and you mustn’t criticize me, even though you and I both know you are right.  You are my only confidant, you know, and I don’t know what in the world I should do without you, so try to bear with me, if you can.”

Jed observed that he guessed likely there wouldn’t be much trouble at his end of the line, providing she could manage to worry along with a feller that went to sleep sittin’ up, and in the daytime, like an owl.  After she had gone, however, he again relapsed into slumber, and his dreams, judging by his expression, must have been pleasant.

That afternoon he had an unexpected visit.  He had just finished washing his dinner dishes and he and Babbie were in the outer shop together, when the visitor came.  Jed was droning “Old Hundred” with improvisations of his own, the said improvising having the effect of slowing down the already extremely deliberate anthem until the result compared to the original was for speed, as an oyster scow compared to an electric launch.  This musical crawl he used as an accompaniment to the sorting and piling of various parts of an order just received from a Southern resort.  Barbara was helping him, at least she called her activities “helping.”  When Jed had finished counting a pile of vanes or mill parts she counted them to make sure.  Usually her count and his did not agree, so both counted again, getting in each other’s way and, as Mr. Winslow expressed it, having a good time generally.  And this remark, intended to be facetious, was after all pretty close to the literal truth.  Certainly Babbie was enjoying herself, and Jed, where an impatient man would have been frantic, was enjoying her enjoyment.  Petunia, perched in lopsided fashion on a heap of mill-sides was, apparently, superintending.

“There!” declared Jed, stacking a dozen sailors beside a dozen of what the order called “birdhouses medium knocked down.”  “There! that’s the livin’ last one, I do believe.  Hi hum!  Now we’ve got to box ’em, haven’t we? . . .  Ye-es, yes, yes, yes. . . .  Hum. . . .

     “’Di—­de—­di—­de—­di—­de. . . .”

“Where’s that hammer?  Oh, yes, here ’tis.”

     “‘Di—­de—­di—­de—­’

“Now where on earth have I put that pencil, Babbie?  Have I swallowed it?  Don’t tell me you’ve seen me swallow it, ’cause that flavor of lead-pencil never did agree with me.”

The child burst into a trill of laughter.

“Why, Uncle Jed,” she exclaimed, “there it is, behind your ear.”