It might make her too--too-- Oh, what ARE those things
you make, Uncle Jed? In the shop, I mean."
"Eh? Windmills?"
"No. The others--those you tell the wind with. I know--vanes. It
might make Petunia too vain. That's what Mamma said I mustn't be
when I had my new coat, the one with the fur, you know."
She trotted off. Jed busied himself with the chowder. A few
minutes later a voice behind him said: "Hi, there!" He turned to
see a broad-shouldered stranger, evidently a carpenter or workman
of some sort, standing at the top of the sand dune and looking down
at him with marked interest.
"Hi, there!" repeated the stranger.
Jed nodded; his attention was centered on the chowder. "How d'ye
do?" he observed, politely. "Nice day, ain't it? . . . Hum. . . .
About five minutes more."
The workman strode down the bank.
"Say," he demanded, "have you seen anything of a plan?"
"Eh? . . . Hum. . . . Two plates and two spoons . . . and two
tumblers. . . ."
"Hey! Wake up! Have you seen anything of a plan, I ask you?"
"Eh? . . . A plan? . . . No, I guess not. . . . No, I ain't. . . .
What is it?"
"What IS it? How do you know you ain't seen it if you don't know
what it is?"
"Eh? . . . I don't, I guess likely."
"Say, you're a queer duck, it strikes me. What are you up to?
What are you doin' here, anyway?"
Jed took the cover from the kettle and stirred the fragrant,
bubbling mass with a long-handled spoon.
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