"
Mrs. Armstrong smiled. "I should think it might help," she
observed, evidently much amused.
Mr. Winslow nodded. "You would think so," he said, "wouldn't you?
Maybe 'twould, too, only 'twas such a plaguey nuisance, towin' that
half a cord of wood around, that I left it to home last time.
Untied the string, you know, and just took the key. The wood and
the string was hangin' up in the right place, but the key wan't
among those present, as they say in the newspapers."
"Where was it?" demanded Barbara.
"Hush, dear," cautioned her mother. "You mustn't ask so many
questions."
"That's all right, ma'am; I don't mind a mite. Where was it?
We-ll, 'twas in my pants pocket here, just where I put it last
time I used it. Naturally enough I shouldn't have thought of
lookin' there and I don't know's I'd have found it yet, but I
happened to shove my hands in my pockets to help me think, and
there 'twas."
This explanation should have been satisfying, doubtless, but
Barbara did not seem to find it wholly so.
"Please may I ask one more question, Mamma?" she pleaded. "Just
only one?"
She asked it before her mother could reply.
"How does putting your hands in your pockets help you think, Mr.
Winslow?" she asked. "I don't see how it would help a bit?"
Jed's eye twinkled, but his reply was solemnly given.
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