"
The child looked at him wonderingly.
"But, Uncle Jed," she said, "there isn't any screwdriver. Anyhow I
don't see any. You were just rubbing the sandpaper and the cloth
together and singing. That's why it looked so funny."
Jed inspected first one hand and then the other.
"Hum!" he drawled. "Hu-um! . . . Well, I declare! . . . Now you
mention it, there don't seem to be any screwdriver, does there? . . .
Here 'tis on the bench. . . . And I was rubbin' the sandpaper
with ile, or ilin' the sandpaper with the rag, whichever you
like. . . . Hum, ye-es, I should think it might have looked
funny. . . . Babbie, if you see me walkin' around without any
head some mornin' don't be scared. You'll know that that part
of me ain't got out of bed yet, that's all."
Barbara leaned her chin on both small fists and gazed at him.
"Uncle Jed," she said, "you've been thinking about something,
haven't you?"
"Eh? . . . Why, yes, I--I guess likely maybe I have. How did you
know?"
"Oh, 'cause I did. Petunia and I know you ever and ever so well
now and we're used to--to the way you do. Mamma says things like
forgetting the screwdriver are your ex-eccen-tricks. Is this what
you've been thinking about a nice eccen-trick or the other kind?"
Jed slowly shook his head. "I--I don't know," he groaned. "I
dasn't believe-- There, there! That's enough of my tricks.
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