He was rather quiet during this first call. Babbie did two-thirds
of the talking. She felt it her duty as an older inhabitant to
display "Uncle Jed" and his creations for her relative's benefit.
Vanes, sailors, ships and mills were pointed out and commented
upon.
"He makes every one, Uncle Charlie," she declared solemnly. "He's
made every one that's here and--oh, lots and lots more. He made
the big mill that's up in our garret-- You haven't seen it yet,
Uncle Charlie; it's going to be out on our lawn next spring--and he
gave it to me for a--for a-- What kind of a present was that mill
you gave me, Uncle Jed, that time when Mamma and Petunia and I were
going back to Mrs. Smalley's because we thought you didn't want us
to have the house any longer?"
Jed looked puzzled.
"Eh?" he queried. "What kind of a present? I don't know's I
understand what you mean."
"I mean what kind of a present was it. It wasn't a Christmas
present or a birthday present or anything like that, but it must be
SOME kind of one. What kind of present would you call it, Uncle
Jed?"
Jed rubbed his chin.
"W-e-e-ll," he drawled, "I guess likely you might call it a forget-
me-not present, if you had to call it anything."
Barbara pondered.
"A--a forget-me-not is a kind of flower, isn't it?" she asked.
"Um-hm."
"But this is a windmill.
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