"
Even a child could not swallow this ridiculous excuse. Barbara
burst out laughing.
"Why, Mr. Winslow!" she cried. "You don't, either. You know I
couldn't carry lumber; I'm too little. I couldn't carry any but
the littlest, tiny bit."
Jed nodded, gravely. "Yes, sartin," he agreed; "that's what I need
you to carry. You run along and tell her so, that's a good girl."
But she shook her head vigorously. "No," she declared. "She would
say it was silly, and it would be. Besides, you don't really need
me at all. You just want Petunia and me for company, same as we
want you. Isn't that it, truly?"
"Um-m. Well, I shouldn't wonder. You can tell her that, if you
want to; I'd just as soon."
The young lady still hesitated. "No-o," she said, "because she'd
think perhaps you didn't really want me, but was too polite to say
so. If you asked her yourself, though, I think she'd let me come."
At first Jed's bashfulness was up in arms at the very idea, but at
length he considered to ask Mrs. Armstrong for the permission. It
was granted, as soon as the lady was convinced that the desire for
more of her daughter's society was a genuine one, and thereafter
Barbara visited the windmill shop afternoons as well as mornings.
She sat, her doll in her arms, upon a box which she soon came to
consider her own particular and private seat, watching her long-
legged friend as he sawed or glued or jointed or painted.
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