"Quite so--quite so! Sarah, this is just
Steve."
The frail little woman with her quaint dignity of another decade failed
to move; she did not unbend so much as the fraction of an inch. But
hard upon the heels of Caleb's last words the boy went forward
unhesitatingly. Hat in the hand that balanced his big steel trap, he
stopped in front of her and offered one brown paw.
"Haow dye do, Miss Hunter," he saluted her, gravely. And with a slow
smile that discovered for her a row of white and even teeth: "Haow dye
do? I--I reckon you're the first--dressed-up lady I ever did git to
know!"
The calm statement took what little breath there had been left in
Caleb's lungs; it left Sarah breathless, too. But after an
infinitesimal moment of waiting she held out her own delicate fingers
and took the outstretched hand.
"Haow dye do, Steve?" she answered, and Caleb was at a loss to
interpret the suppressed quality of her voice. "And I--some day I am
sure it will be a great pleasure to remember that I was the--first!"
Then she faced her brother.
"Will you--will your friend, Mr.--Steve--remain for supper, Cal?" she
asked.
And Caleb, quick to see an opening, made the most of this one.
"Stay for supper," he repeated her question, and he laughed.
"Stay--for--supper! Well, I should hope he would. Why--why, he's
going to stop for the night!"
From the vantage place there at the top of the steps Sarah stood and
surveyed her brother's wide and guileless face for a second.
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