“I was mighty sorry I made all that racket right over your head just now,” he apologized awkwardly. “Oh, that was all right,” she assured him quickly. “A person can’t help pans falling down sometimes.” “It was the pie plates,” he confided. “Seems like they just stand there on edge watching their chance to jump down on a feller, and they ain’t never satisfied to let one of the bunch go alone, but all of ’em got to rattle down together.” There was in his eyes now that rueful twinkle which she had seen before. He offered it tentatively to her, a deprecatory, whimsical comment on his own inaptitude. It was like a shy animal peeping forth from its hole, ready to whisk away at the first unsympathetic gesture. Julie smiled. “Yes, I know,” she said, although she really had no whimsical twist like that in her own make-up. When pie plates fell for her, they fell, and there was no alleviating mirth about their descent. He still lingered, looking at her wistfully, relaxing his nerves in her sympathetic atmosphere. The street was almost empty. The little gardens up and down it made joyful bits of color, and the fresh morning air danced through the shimmering trees, and twinkled its feet over the sparkling grass. Here and there, spread on the small lawns, or depending from the garden fences or from the branch of a shrub, spider webs showed their lace, an ephemeral loveliness which would presently disappear as the day advanced. For a time life seemed to turn a kindly side to them both, and in the friendliness of each other’s presence, their real personalities--which were usually as invisible as the gossamer webs upon the grass--came forth in shy intercourse. “I’m mightily afraid I’ll disturb you in the mornings, stepping around right over your head like that,” he confided. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she reassured him. “I’m always up and through my breakfast before you commence, and I think it’s nice to hear other folks stirring around and getting ready for the day, too.” “Well, I made stir enough this morning, didn’t I?” He laughed. Then he was emboldened to a further confession. “I scared myself so bad I didn’t have the nerve to go on and get my breakfast.” “Why! You haven’t had anything to eat?” she exclaimed. He flushed. “Oh, it’s all right. I’ll get me some coffee over at the Monroe House. I didn’t want to disturb my wife again. She’s mighty apt to have one of her bad headaches in the morning,” he said, unconsciously revealing the real reason for his abandoning any further attempt at breakfast. “I got some fresh coffee right on my stove this minute, an’ some hot biscuits still in the oven. I’d be mighty glad to give you a bite,” she offered impulsively. At that, a quick embarrassed flush mounted to his forehead. “I’m much obliged,” he answered stiffly, “but I wouldn’t trouble you.” His embarrassment communicated itself to her, entrapping them both in their frozen self-consciousness and destroying the little moment of friendly spontaneity.