fact that the blinds were not closed and that there
was smoke issuing from the chimney of the kitchen, the little house
might have been as empty as it had been the month before.

Or as it might be next month. The thought came to Jed with a
meaning and emphasis which it had not brought before. A stronger
gust than usual howled around the eaves of the shop, the sashes
rattled, the panes were beaten by the flung raindrops which pounded
down in watery sheets to the sills, and Jed suddenly diagnosed his
own case, he knew what was the matter with him--he was lonesome;
he, who had lived alone for five years and had hoped to live alone
for the rest of his life, was lonesome.

He would not admit it, even to himself; it was ridiculous. He was
not lonesome, he was just a little "blue," that was all. It was
the weather; he might have caught a slight cold, perhaps his
breakfast had not agreed with him. He tried to remember what that
breakfast had been. It had been eaten in a hurry, he had been
thinking of something else as usual, and, except that it consisted
of various odds and ends which he had happened to have on hand, he
could not itemize it with exactness. There had been some cold
fried potatoes, and some warmed-over pop-overs which had "slumped"
in the cooking, and a doughnut or two and--oh, yes, a saucer of
canned peaches which had been sitting around for a week and which
he had eaten to get out of the way. These, with a cup of warmed-
over coffee, made up the meal. Jed couldn't see why a breakfast of
that kind should make him "blue." And yet he was blue--yes, and
there was no use disguising the fact, he was lonesome. If that
child would only come, as she generally did, her nonsense might
cheer him up a bit. But she did not come. And if he decided not
to permit her mother to occupy the house, she would not come much
more. Eh? Why, it was the last day of the month! She might never
come again!

Jed shut off the motor and turned away from the lathe. He sank
down into his little chair, drew his knee up under his chin, and
thought, long and seriously. When the knee slid down to its normal
position once more his mind was made up. Mrs. Armstrong might
remain in the little house--for a few months more, at any rate.
Even if she insisted upon a year's lease it wouldn't do any great
harm. He would wait until she spoke to him about it and then he
would give his consent. And--and it would please Captain Sam, at
a