“I guess that was it,” she observed.  “She was sort of talking to herself when she said it.  She was writing a letter—­to Uncle Charlie, I think it was—­and I and Petunia asked her if she liked it here and she sort of looked at me without looking, same as you do sometimes, Mr. Winslow, when you’re thinking of something else, and then she said that about the catty—­no, the purr-gatory.  And when I asked her what purr-gatory meant she said, ‘Never mind,’ and. . . .  Oh, I forgot!” in consternation; “she told me I mustn’t tell anybody she said it, either.  Oh, dear me!”

Jed hastened to reassure her.  “Never mind,” he declared, “I’ll forget you ever did say it.  I’ll start in forgettin’ now.  In five minutes or so I’ll have forgot two words of it already.  By to-morrow mornin’ I wouldn’t remember it for money.”

“Truly?”

“Truly bluely, lay me down and cut me in twoly.  But what’s this you’re sayin’ about your ma lookin’ at things without seein’ ’em, same as I do?  She don’t do that, does she?”

The young lady nodded.  “Yes,” she said; “course not as bad—­I mean not as often as you do, but sometimes, ’specially since—­” She hastily clapped her hand over her mouth.  “Oh!” she exclaimed.

“What’s the matter?  Toothache?”

“No.  Only I almost told another somethin’ I mustn’t.”

“Sho!  Well, I’m glad you put on the cover just in time.”

“So am I. What else was I talking about?  Oh, yes, Mamma’s thinking so hard, same as you do, Mr. Winslow.  You know,” she added, earnestly, “she acts quite a lot like you sometimes.”

Jed looked at her in horror.  “Good Lord!” he exclaimed.  Then, in his solemnest drawl, he added, “You tell her to take somethin’ for it afore it’s too late.”

As he rose from the bench he observed:  “Haven’t seen you over to the shop since you moved in.  I’ve been turnin’ out another school of swordfish and whales, too.  Why don’t you run in and look ’em over?”

She clapped her hands.  “Oh, may I?” she cried.  “I’ve wanted to ever and ever so much, but Mamma said not to because it might annoy you.  Wouldn’t it annoy you, truly?”

“Not a bit.”

“Oh, goody!  And might Petunia come, too?”

“Um-hm.  Only,” gravely, “she’ll have to promise not to talk too much.  Think she’ll promise that?  All right; then fetch her along.”

So, the very next morning, when Jed was busy at the bandsaw, he was not greatly surprised when the door opened and Miss Barbara appeared, with Petunia in her arms.  He was surprised, however, and not a little embarrassed when Mrs. Armstrong followed.

“Good morning,” said the lady, pleasantly.  “I came over to make sure that there hadn’t been a mistake.  You really did ask Babby to come in and see you at work?”

“Yes, ma’am, I—­I did.  I did, sartin.”

“And you don’t mind having her here?  She won’t annoy you?”