“Well, I wa ’n’t—not altogether,” Uncle William’s face was placid, “—but I wouldn’t ’a’ wanted you to get cold—I guess George tucked you in pretty good—” “I tucked myself in,” she said. “Have you got a fire made for me?” “Everything’s all ready, Celia.” Uncle William led her out to the tiny kitchen, tiled in white and fitted with all the contrivances for skill and swiftness. She stood looking about her—the little color in her face. “Well, this is a kitchen!” she said. She drew a deep breath. Uncle William chuckled. “I knew you ’d like it. You see you can stand right here in the middle and throw things. ’Twouldn’t suit me so well—” he said reflectively. “I like to roll around more—but this is about right for you, Celia.” He looked at her. “Just right,” she said emphatically—“But there isn’t room for two—is there?” She looked at him and he retired, chuckling, while she examined the range, taking off lids and peeking into the oven.... George Manning appeared in the doorway. “Uncle William told me to ask you if there’s anything you want?” he said, looking about the shining little room. Celia whisked her apron from the basket and put it on. “You can tell him there isn’t a thing I need—except to be left alone,” she added severely, “and I just told him that.” The young man withdrew—a heavy color rising in his face. “She didn’t want anything, did she?” said Uncle William casually. “No.” Manning took up his plane and attacked a piece of board screwed to the bench. Uncle William watched the long, even lunge of the plane and the set of the square shoulders. He moved discreetly away. In her kitchen, Celia spread the contents of the basket on the white shelf, and settled to her work—like a bird to its nest.... Out in the rooms beyond—amid the swirl of planes and the smell of paint and shavings and clean, fresh wood, they heard a voice singing softly to itself... and against the windows the sleet dashed itself and broke, and the great storm from the east gathered. By and by Uncle William looked into the kitchen. “You couldn’t just go out in the other room, Celia, and fetch me my coat, could ye?” He was standing in his shirt sleeves, looking at her kindly. She glanced up from her work and paused, “No, Mr. Benslow, I couldn’t—and I do wish you ’d stop acting so.... You’re just—ridiculous!” She lifted a pie and whisked it into the oven and Uncle William retired. He went for his coat himself and put it on, shrugging his great shoulders comfortably down into it—“If they want to act like that, they ’ll have to get along best way they can,” he muttered to himself.