She had not met it
before and found it rather embarrassing, especially as it kept on
and on.
"Well?" she asked, after a time. He started and awoke to
realities.
"I was just thinkin'," he explained, "that you was the only woman
that has been in this house since the summer I let it to the
Davidson folks. And Mrs. Davidson wan't a mite like you."
That was true enough. Mrs. Davidson had been a plump elderly
matron with gray hair, a rather rasping voice and a somewhat
aggressive manner. Mrs. Armstrong was young and slim, her hair and
eyes were dark, her manner refined and her voice low and gentle.
And, if Jed had been in the habit of noticing such things, he might
have noticed that she was pleasant to look at. Perhaps he was
conscious of this fact, but, if so, it was only in a vague, general
way.
His gaze wandered to Barbara, who, with Petunia, was curled up in a
big old-fashioned rocker.
"And a child, too," he mused. "I don't know when there's been a
child in here. Not since I was one, I guess likely, and that's too
long ago for anybody to remember single-handed."
But Mrs. Armstrong was interested in his previous remark.
"You have let others occupy this house then?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am, one summer I did. Let it furnished to some folks name
of Davidson, from Chicago."
"And you haven't rented it since?"
"No, ma'am, not but that once.
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