Babbie laughed again and replied that she guessed the cat wouldn’t lend her feet.

“She would want ’em herself, prob’ly, Uncle Jed,” she added.  “Don’t you think so?”

Jed appeared to consider.

“Well,” he drawled, “she might, I presume likely, be as selfish and unreasonable as all that.  But then again she might . . . hum . . . what was it the cat walked on in that story you and I was readin’ together a spell ago?  That—­er—­Sure Enough story—­you know.  By Kipling, ’twas.”

“Oh, I know!  It wasn’t a Sure Enough story; it was a ‘Just So’ story.  And the name of it was ’The Cat Who Walked by His Wild Lone.’”

Jed looked deeply disappointed.  “Sho!” he sighed.  “I thought ‘twas on his wild lone he walked.  I was thinkin’ that maybe he’d gone walkin’ on that for a spell and had lent you his feet. . . .  Hum. . . .  Dear, dear!

    “’Oh, trust and obey,
      For there’s no other way
      To be de-de-de-di-dum—­
      But to trust and obey.’”

Here he relapsed into another daydream.  After waiting for a moment, Babbie ventured to arouse him.

“Uncle Jed,” she asked, “what were you doing with those things in your hand—­when I came in, you know?  That cloth and that piece of paper.  You looked so funny, rubbing them together, that I couldn’t help laughing.”

Jed regarded her solemnly.  “It’s emery paper,” he said; “like fine sandpaper, you know.  And the cloth’s got ile in it.  I’m cleanin’ the rust off this screwdriver.  I hadn’t used it for more’n a fortni’t and it got pretty rusty this damp weather.”

The child looked at him wonderingly.

“But, Uncle Jed,” she said, “there isn’t any screwdriver.  Anyhow I don’t see any.  You were just rubbing the sandpaper and the cloth together and singing.  That’s why it looked so funny.”

Jed inspected first one hand and then the other.

“Hum!” he drawled.  “Hu-um! . . .  Well, I declare! . . .  Now you mention it, there don’t seem to be any screwdriver, does there? . . .  Here ‘tis on the bench. . . .  And I was rubbin’ the sandpaper with ile, or ilin’ the sandpaper with the rag, whichever you like. . . .  Hum, ye-es, I should think it might have looked funny. . . .  Babbie, if you see me walkin’ around without any head some mornin’ don’t be scared.  You’ll know that that part of me ain’t got out of bed yet, that’s all.”

Barbara leaned her chin on both small fists and gazed at him.  “Uncle Jed,” she said, “you’ve been thinking about something, haven’t you?”

“Eh? . . .  Why, yes, I—­I guess likely maybe I have.  How did you know?”

“Oh, ’cause I did.  Petunia and I know you ever and ever so well now and we’re used to—­to the way you do.  Mamma says things like forgetting the screwdriver are your ex-eccen-tricks.  Is this what you’ve been thinking about a nice eccen-trick or the other kind?”