dn't
help laughing."

Jed regarded her solemnly. "It's emery paper," he said; "like fine
sandpaper, you know. And the cloth's got ile in it. I'm cleanin'
the rust off this screwdriver. I hadn't used it for more'n a
fortni't and it got pretty rusty this damp weather."

The child looked at him wonderingly.

"But, Uncle Jed," she said, "there isn't any screwdriver. Anyhow I
don't see any. You were just rubbing the sandpaper and the cloth
together and singing. That's why it looked so funny."

Jed inspected first one hand and then the other.

"Hum!" he drawled. "Hu-um! . . . Well, I declare! . . . Now you
mention it, there don't seem to be any screwdriver, does there? . . .
Here 'tis on the bench. . . . And I was rubbin' the sandpaper
with ile, or ilin' the sandpaper with the rag, whichever you
like. . . . Hum, ye-es, I should think it might have looked
funny. . . . Babbie, if you see me walkin' around without any
head some mornin' don't be scared. You'll know that that part
of me ain't got out of bed yet, that's all."

Barbara leaned her chin on both small fists and gazed at him.
"Uncle Jed," she said, "you've been thinking about something,
haven't you?"

"Eh? . . . Why, yes, I--I guess likely maybe I have. How did you
know?"

"Oh, 'cause I did. Petunia and I know you ever and ever so well
now and we're used to--to the way you do. Mamma says things like
forgetting the screwdriver are your ex-eccen-tricks. Is this what
you've been thinking about a nice eccen-trick or the other kind?"

Jed slowly shook his head. "I--I don't know," he groaned. "I
dasn't believe-- There, there! That's enough of my tricks. How's
Petunia's hair curlin' this mornin'?"

After the child left him he tried to prepare his dinner, but it was
as unsatisfactory a meal as breakfast had been. He couldn't eat,
he couldn't work. He could only think, and thinking meant
alternate periods of delirious hope and black depression. He sat
down before the little table in his living-room and, opening the
drawer, saw Ruth Armstrong's pictured face looking up at him.

"Jed! Oh, Jed!"

It was Maud Hunniwell's voice. She had entered the shop and the
living-room without his hearing her and now she was standing behind
him with her hand upon his shoulder. He started, turned and looked
up into her face. And one glance caused him to forget himself and
even the pictured face in the drawer for the time and to think only
of her.