These were the thoughts that caused him to relax his iron grip
and smile as he sat by the window, smoking his corn-cob pipe and
taking one of his very rare periods of rest.
Presently he glanced at the clock. "It's only quarter-past four,"
he said. "I thought 't was later, but the snow makes it so light
you can't jedge the time. The moon fulls to-night, don't it? Yes;
come to think of it, I know it does. Ain't you settin' out supper
a little mite early, Wait still? "This was a longer and more
amiable speech than he had made in years, but Waitstill never
glanced at him as she said: "It is a little early, but I want to
get it ready before I leave."
"Be you goin' out? Mind, I won't have you follerin' Patience
round; you'll only upset what I've done, an' anyhow I want you to
keep away from the neighbors for a few days, till all this blows
over."
He spoke firmly, though for him mildly, for he still had the
uneasy feeling that he stood on the brink of a volcano; and, as a
matter of fact, he tumbled into it the very next moment.
The meagre supper was spread; a plate of cold; soda biscuits, a
dried-apple pie, and the usual brown teapot were in evidence; and
as her father ceased speaking Waitstill opened the door of the
brick oven where the bean-pot reposed, set a chair by the table,
and turning, took up her coat (her mother's old riding-cloak, it
was), and calmly put it on, reaching then for her hood and her
squirrel tippet.
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