Shavings Part 8

Jed's answer was solemnly given. "I'm afraid I shouldn't be much good at the job," he drawled.

His visitor burst into another laugh. He looked at her over his gla.s.ses.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing; I--I was just thinking of you in a uniform, that's all."

Jed smiled his slow, fleeting smile.

"I guess likely I would be pretty funny," he admitted. "Any Germans I met would probably die laughin' and that might help along some."

But after Miss Hunniwell had gone he sat for some minutes gazing out of the window, the wistful, dreamy look on his lean, homely face. Then he sighed, and resumed his painting.

That afternoon, about half past five, he was still at his task when, hearing the doorbell ring, he rose and went into the front shop. To his astonishment the shop was empty. He looked about for the expected customer or caller, whoever he or she might be, and saw no one. He stepped to the window and looked out, but there was no one on the steps or in the yard. He made up his mind that he must have dreamed of the bell-ringing and was turning back to the inner room, when a voice said:

"Please, are you the windmill man?"

Jed started, turned again, and stared about him.

"Please, sir, here I am," said the voice.

Jed, looking down, instead of up or on a level, saw his visitor then. That is, he saw a tumbled shock of curls and a pair of big round eyes looking up at him over a stock of weather vanes.

"h.e.l.lo!" he exclaimed, in surprise.

The curls and eyes came out from behind the stack of vanes. They were parts of a little girl, and the little girl made him a demure little courtesy.

"How do you do?" she said.

Jed regarded her in silence for a moment. Then, "Why, I'm fair to middlin' smart just at present," he drawled. "How do YOU find yourself to-day?"

The young lady's answer was prompt and to the point. "I'm nicely, thank you," she replied, and added: "I was sick at my stomach yesterday, though."

This bit of personal information being quite unexpected, Mr.

Winslow scarcely knew what comment to make in reply to it.

"Sho!" he exclaimed. "Was you, though?"

"Yes. Mamma says she is 'clined to think it was the two whole bananas and the choc'late creams, but I think it was the fried potatoes. I was sick twice--no, three times. Please, I asked you something. Are you the windmill man?"

Jed, by this time very much amused, looked her over once more. She was a pretty little thing, although just at this time it is doubtful if any of her family or those closely a.s.sociated with her would have admitted it. Her face was not too clean, her frock was soiled and mussed, her curls had been blown into a tangle and there were smooches, Jed guessed them to be blackberry stains, on her hands, around her mouth and even across her small nose. She had a doll, its raiment in about the same condition as her own, tucked under one arm. Hat she had none.

Mr. Winslow inspected her in his accustomed deliberate fashion.

"Guess you've been havin' a pretty good time, haven't you?" he inquired.

The small visitor's answer was given with dignity.

"Yes," she said. "Will you please tell me if you are the windmill man?"

Jed accepted the snub with outward humility and inward appreciation.

"Why, yes," he admitted; "I presume likely I'm the windmill man.

Is there anything I can do for you this evenin'?"

Apparently there was, for the child, untucking the doll from beneath her right arm and tucking it under the left, pointed her right hand at a wooden weather-vane in the shape of a sperm whale and asked:

"Please, does that fish go 'round?"

"Go 'round? Go 'round where?"

"I mean does it go 'round and 'round on a stick?"

"Cal'late it does when it has a chance."

"And does it make the wind blow no'theast by no'th and--and like that?"

"Eh? Make the wind blow--how?"

"I mean does it make the wind blow different ways, no'theast by no'th and cantin' 'round to the sou-east and--and those ways?

Captain Hedge has got a fish up on his barn that used to do that, but now it won't 'cause he cal'lates it's rusted fast. He said he guessed he would have to be getting a new one. When I saw the fishes out in your yard I thought about it and I thought I would come in and see if you had the right kind. Is this one a--a gunfish?"

"A WHICH fish?"

"A gunfish. No, that isn't it. A--a swordfish, that's it.

Captain Hedge's is a swordfish."

"We-ll, that particular one got a wrong start and ended up by bein'

a whale, but I shouldn't wonder if we could find a swordfish if we looked. Yes, here's one. Think that would do?"

The child looked it over very carefully.

"Yes," she said, "I think it would. If you're sure it would make the wind go right."

"We-ll, I guess likely I could guarantee that fish would go 'most any way the wind did, unless it should take a notion to blow straight up and down, which don't happen often. So you know Cap'n Hedge, do you? Relation of his, are you? Visitin' there?"

"No. Mamma and I are boarding at Mrs. Smalley's, but I go over to call on Captain Hedge 'most every day."

"Sho! Want to know! Well, that's nice and sociable. So you're boardin' at Luretta Smalley's. My! you're consider'ble ways from home, ain't you? Is your mamma with you?"

For the first time the youthful caller's poise seemed a trifle shaken.

"No-o . . . no," she stammered, and added, hastily: "How much is this fish, please?"

"I generally sell that sort of fish for about two dollars." He looked out of the window, hummed a tune, and then added: "Let's see, what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't, but it's Barbara Armstrong. HOW much did you say the fish was?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, two dollars."