“I’ve put your washing-duds outside,” said Celia, “your wash-basin and towel and soap and things—out by the door, you know.” She motioned him off. Uncle William stopped and looked at her. “That’s the way Harr’et has ’em,” he said. “How ’d you come to think of that, Celia?” The girl bubbled a little laugh. “I didn’t think very hard—Is Mr. Bodet coming?” “He ’ll be right along,” said Uncle William. “He stopped to talk with George Manning—about plans and so on. He ’ll be here pretty quick now.” He went out of the door, and the room was very quiet. The girl stood twisting a corner of her apron in her fingers and looking about the shining room. There was a little dimple in her cheek that came and went. “What you thinking about, Celia?” asked Uncle William, coming in. His face glowed from its washing and the tofts of hair stood up straight. The girl started a little. “I wasn’t thinking about anything—I guess.” She looked at the stove—“They ’ll cook all to pieces if he doesn’t come pretty quick,” she said. “He’s coming.” Uncle William went to the window. “He’s right up the road a piece—You ain’t had time to get homesick, have you, Celia?” He was standing with his back to her. “No, sir—Is that man coming, too?” “That man—?” Uncle William wheeled about.... “Oh, George? You mean George Manning, I guess.” “That’s his name—the one that was up there this morning—fussing around.” Uncle William nodded, his shrewd eyes on the little curls that were bending over the sink. “That’s George Manning—He’s a nice boy,” he added, seating himself on the lounge. “He’s a putty good boy—George is.” Her interest was absorbed in something in the kettle on the stove—that steamed and swirled about her. She took a fork and tested it tenderly. Then she glanced at the window. “He’s coming—Mr. Bodet—You go show him where to wash—while I take up the dumplings—” She lifted the kettle, and Uncle William went meekly to the door. “You wash up out here, Benjy,” said Uncle William. He waved his hand at the toilet articles ranged on the bench by the door—“It’s a nice place, you see—soap, and there’s your towel.... She ’ll let us come in rainy days and cold days, maybe,” he said thoughtfully. Bodet gave a dry chuckle. “Suits me,” he said. Uncle William’s face lightened. “I don’t mind a mite myself—” he explained, “but I was kind o’ ’fraid you ’d want to be inside—where folks can’t see you doing things so.” “Never!” said Bodet, “—with the sky for a ceiling and the clouds for frescoes—what more could a man want?” He waved his towel briskly at the landscape. Uncle William tiptoed back to the house. “He likes it—out there,” he said. Her face twinkled and she set the dumplings on the table with a brisk movement. “He’s a nice man,” she said. “You comin’, Benjy?” called Uncle William.