Said those kittens was rare and--er--precious, or words to that effect.He didn't intend to let another go as cheap as he had that one.""Oh....I see.I remember now; I heard some one saying something, early in July, about the sign on the Rogers' front fence.'Rare Cats for Sale' they said it was.I think.Of course, I never thought of THOSE kittens.He must have sold them all, for the sign isn't there now."Jed whistled a few bars."I don't hardly think he's sold 'em," he said."I presume likely he's just gone out of the business.""I don't see why he shouldn't sell them.Green cats ought to sell quickly enough, I should think.Were they green, honest and truly, Jed?"Mr.Winslow nodded.
"They were that mornin'," he drawled, solemnly.
"That morning? What do you mean?"
"We-ll, you see, Maud, those kittens were into everything and over everything most of the time.Four of 'em had got in here early afore I came downstairs that day and had been playin' hide and hoot amongst my paint pots.They was green in spots, sure enough, but Ihad my doubts as to its bein' fast color."Maud laughed joyfully over the secret of the green pussies.
"I wish I might have seen that woman's face after the colors began to wear off her 'rare' kitten," she said.
Jed smiled slightly."Nathan saw it," he said."I understood he had to take back the kitten and give up the seven dollars.He don't hardly speak to me nowadays.Seems to think 'twas my fault.
I don't hardly think 'twas, do you?"
Miss Hunniwell's call lasted almost an hour.Besides a general chat concerning Leander Babbit's voluntary enlistment, the subject which all Orham had discussed since the previous afternoon, she had a fresh bit of news.The government had leased a large section of land along the bay at East Harniss, the next village to Orham and seven or eight miles distant, and there was to be a military aviation camp there.
"Oh, it's true!" she declared, emphatically."Father has known that the Army people have been thinking of it for some time, but it was really decided and the leases signed only last Saturday.They will begin building the barracks and the buildings--the--oh, what do they call those big sheds they keep the aeroplanes in?""The hangars," said Winslow, promptly.
"Yes, that's it.They will begin building those right away." She paused and looked at him curiously."How did you know they called them hangars, Jed?" she asked.
"Eh?...Oh, I've read about 'em in the newspapers, that's all....H-u-u-m....So we'll have aeroplanes flyin' around here pretty soon, I suppose.Well, well!""Yes.And there'll be lots and lots of the flying men--the what-do-you-call-'ems--aviators, and officers in uniform--and all sorts.
What fun! I'm just crazy about uniforms!"Her eyes snapped.Jed, in his quiet way, seemed excited, too.He was gazing absently out of the window as if he saw, in fancy, a procession of aircraft flying over Orham flats.
"They'll be flyin' up out there," he said, musingly."And I'll see 'em--I will.Sho!"Miss Hunniwell regarded him mischievously."Jed," she asked, "would you like to be an aviator?"Jed's answer was solemnly given."I'm afraid I shouldn't be much good at the job," he drawled.
His visitor burst into another laugh.He looked at her over his glasses.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing; I--I was just thinking of you in a uniform, that's all."Jed smiled his slow, fleeting smile.
"I guess likely I would be pretty funny," he admitted."Any Germans I met would probably die laughin' and that might help along some."But after Miss Hunniwell had gone he sat for some minutes gazing out of the window, the wistful, dreamy look on his lean, homely face.Then he sighed, and resumed his painting.
That afternoon, about half past five, he was still at his task when, hearing the doorbell ring, he rose and went into the front shop.To his astonishment the shop was empty.He looked about for the expected customer or caller, whoever he or she might be, and saw no one.He stepped to the window and looked out, but there was no one on the steps or in the yard.He made up his mind that he must have dreamed of the bell-ringing and was turning back to the inner room, when a voice said:
"Please, are you the windmill man?"
Jed started, turned again, and stared about him.
"Please, sir, here I am," said the voice.
Jed, looking down, instead of up or on a level, saw his visitor then.That is, he saw a tumbled shock of curls and a pair of big round eyes looking up at him over a stock of weather vanes.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, in surprise.
The curls and eyes came out from behind the stack of vanes.They were parts of a little girl, and the little girl made him a demure little courtesy.
"How do you do?" she said.
Jed regarded her in silence for a moment.Then, "Why, I'm fair to middlin' smart just at present," he drawled."How do YOU find yourself to-day?"The young lady's answer was prompt and to the point."I'm nicely, thank you," she replied, and added: "I was sick at my stomach yesterday, though."This bit of personal information being quite unexpected, Mr.
Winslow scarcely knew what comment to make in reply to it.
"Sho!" he exclaimed."Was you, though?"
"Yes.Mamma says she is 'clined to think it was the two whole bananas and the choc'late creams, but I think it was the fried potatoes.I was sick twice--no, three times.Please, I asked you something.Are you the windmill man?"Jed, by this time very much amused, looked her over once more.She was a pretty little thing, although just at this time it is doubtful if any of her family or those closely associated with her would have admitted it.Her face was not too clean, her frock was soiled and mussed, her curls had been blown into a tangle and there were smooches, Jed guessed them to be blackberry stains, on her hands, around her mouth and even across her small nose.She had a doll, its raiment in about the same condition as her own, tucked under one arm.Hat she had none.
Mr.Winslow inspected her in his accustomed deliberate fashion.
