There are several miles of swamp work, I think he said,
and a bridge or something, which promises trouble. I--I am sorry if I
interrupted. I only wanted to ask Mr. O'Mara a question myself--a--a
very unimportant question, I'm afraid!"
Allison had had experience with his daughter's seeming meekness.
Moreover, the working of Caleb's and Sarah's faces baffled him. He
waited, fuming.
"Just before you and Uncle Cal came in we--we were talking about the
weather," the girl struggled on. "Mr. O'Mara predicted it would rain
soon and I just wanted to ask him what made him think so."
"Yes?" Allison temporized.
It was very quiet for a moment. Steve sat, a little red of face
himself, gazing across into the girl's starry eyes.
"Go ahead!" she prompted him with a gasp.
Then his lips began to curl until a smile overspread his face and
half-closed his eyes. He leaned back and raised obediently a quaintly
solemn, quaintly boyish treble.
"I wa'n't guessin'," he averred soberly, "ner I wa'n't thinkin' it
will. It'll jest be rainin', come sunup, and it'll be good fer till
Wednesday, for sure!"
At the beginning of that quavering statement Dexter Allison's lips fell
apart. They remained open long after Steve had finished. Once he
started to rise, and then dropped back into his chair, dumfounded.
There was no doubt concerning the success of his daughter's query.
Pages:
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111