Uncle William bustled about and knocked down the tongs and three or four sticks of wood, and picked them up. He grumbled a little. Bodet looked up, with a smile. “What’s the matter, William!” Manning got to his feet, crowding the scrap of paper into his pocket, “I’ll have to go,” he said. “It’s getting late.” “Why, yes—’tis kind o’ late—” assented Uncle William: “Gets late dretful early, these days.... If you’re going right along, George, you might’s well walk along with Celia—so ’s ’t the’ won’t anything happen to her—” “I don’t need anyone,” said the girl quickly, “I’ve got my lantern.” She held it out. The young man searched for his hat. “I don’t need any company,” repeated the girl. She passed quickly from the open door and vanished. George stood up, gazing after her light flickering on the path. He had found his hat and was twirling it in stiff slow fingers. “Run along, George,” said Uncle William kindly. “You can ketch her, easy.” “I don’t run after any girl,” said George. There was a deep glint in his eye. Uncle William looked at it and then at the lantern, flicking and dancing on the path. He stepped to the door. “O-ho! Celia!” he called sternly. The light wavered a little and paused and danced.... Then it went on. Uncle William stepped out into the night. “Cel-i-a!” he called and his big voice boomed over the rocks. The lantern stopped. It came back—with little wavering steps and halted before him. “What ’d you go running off like that for?” Her face, above the lantern, was demure. “I didn’t run,” she said. “Well, you might jest as well ’a’ run—I wanted you to take suthin’ for me.” Uncle William was feeling about in the darkness by the door. “Oh—I didn’t know—” Her voice was very contrite now, and meek. “I didn’t suppose you knew—but you could ’a’ waited.... Here they be!” He dragged forward a heavy sack of potatoes and untied the neck—“I told Harr’et I’d send her down a mess of new potatoes for breakfast,” he said. He dipped into the sack with generous hand—filling a basket that stood by the door. The girl looked at it with round eyes. “You ’d just as lives carry it along, wouldn’t you, Celia?” She reached out her hand and lifted it a little. Then she looked at him. “Like enough you need a little help with it,” said Uncle William wickedly. “Oh—George—” he stepped to the door. “You just give Celia a lift with this basket, won’t you!—It’s a little mite heavy for her.” The young man appeared in the door. He lifted the basket with decisive hand and held out the other—“I’ll take that lantern,” he said. She hesitated an instant—holding it a little behind her. Then she gave it up. “I can carry lanterns well enough.” “I’ll take it,” replied George. He strode away over the rocks and she followed with little tripping steps that half ran to keep up.