“Good morning,” she said.

Jed was surprised to see her at such an early hour; also just at that time her sudden appearance was like a sort of miracle, as if the thoughts in his brain had taken shape, had materialized.  For a moment he could not regain presence of mind sufficient to return her greeting.  Then, noticing the broken vane on the floor, she exclaimed: 

“Oh, you have had an accident.  Isn’t that too bad!  When did it happen?”

He looked down at the decapitated crow and touched one of the pieces with the toe of his boot.

“Just this minute,” he answered.  “I stepped on it and away she went.  Did a pretty neat, clean job, didn’t I? . . .  Um-hm. . . .  I wonder if anybody stepped on my head ’twould break like that.  Probably not; the wood in it is too green, I cal’late.”

She smiled, but she made no comment on this characteristic bit of speculation.  Instead she asked:  “Mr. Winslow, are you very busy this morning?  Is your work too important to spare me just a few minutes?”

Jed looked surprised; he smiled his one-sided smile.

“No, ma’am,” he drawled.  “I’ve been pretty busy but ’twan’t about anything important.  I presume likely,” he added, “there ain’t anybody in Ostable County that can be so busy as I can be doin’ nothin’ important.”

“And you can spare a few minutes?  I—­I want to talk to you very much.  I won’t be long, really.”

He regarded her intently.  Then he walked toward the door leading to the little workroom.  “Come right in here, ma’am,” he said, gravely; adding, after they had entered the other apartment, “Take that chair.  I’ll sit over here on the box.”

He pulled forward the box and turned to find her still standing.

“Do sit down,” he urged.  “That chair ain’t very comfortable, I know.  Perhaps I’d better get you another one from my sittin’-room in yonder.”

He was on his way to carry out the suggestion, but she interrupted him.  “Oh, no,” she said.  “This one will be perfectly comfortable, I’m sure, only—­”

“Yes?  Is there somethin’ the matter with it?”

“Not the matter with it, exactly, but it seems to be—­occupied.”

Jed stepped forward and peered over the workbench at the chair.  Its seat was piled high with small pasteboard boxes containing hardware-screws, tacks and metal washers—­which he used in his mill and vane-making.

“Sho!” he exclaimed.  “Hum!  Does seem to be taken, as you say.  I recollect now; a lot of that stuff came in by express day before yesterday afternoon and I piled it up there while I was unpackin’ it.  Here!” apparently addressing the hardware, “you get out of that.  That seat’s reserved.”

He stretched a long arm over the workbench, seized the chair by the back and tipped it forward.  The pasteboard boxes went to the floor in a clattering rush.  One containing washers broke open and the little metal rings rolled everywhere.  Mr. Winslow did not seem to mind.