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Bessie finished her churning quickly, and then went back, hoping either to make Jake relent or find some way of releasing the prisoner in the woodshed. But she could see no sign of Jake. The summer afternoon had become dark. In the west heavy black clouds were forming, and as Bessie looked about it grew darker and darker. Evidently a thunder shower was approaching.
As Larry came in sight of the cabin he saw the raft, on which the stranger had come ashore, lying just beyond high-water mark. He entered the hut, expecting to see Retto, as he had come to call the foreigner, sitting comfortably by the fire. But the rescued man was not there. Nor was he in the room where he had been put to bed. "Maybe he's in the woodshed," thought Larry. "I'll take a look."
"Polly an' I," he said, "went down to New York one spring some years ago. Her nerves was some wore out 'long of diff'rences with Sairy about clearin' up the woodshed, an' bread risin's, an' not bein' able to suit herself up to Purse's in the qual'ty of silk velvit she wanted fer a Sunday-go-to-meetin' gown, an' I thought a spell off 'd do her good.
The hills to-day were only a shade deeper than the pale sky. Along the road back of the house a lumber wagon rattled, the thin bay horses galloping joyously in harness. Pink and white cosmos, pallid on clouds of frail, bushy green, were banked in the shade of the woodshed. She meditated, with a troubled brow. Her letter was unexpectedly hard to compose.
Perhaps I could catch a mess for supper," the boy replied, and without waiting for any further suggestions started for the woodshed to get his rod and line. He was soon sitting on the end of the log carriage under the shelter of the saw-mill roof, his line dangling into the water of the forebay, waiting for a bite.
When my father invited me into the woodshed when I was a kid, he always prefaced each performance with this remark, 'Son, it hurts me a great deal more than it's going to hurt you. After the performance I used to ponder that statement over and over and wonder how it could possibly be true. In fact, I didn't believe it then, but now I do.
He gave his hands a douse of water, dried them quickly on a roller towel in the woodshed, and then came back to greet the brother of the boy of whom he was so fond. "You got the telegram all right then?" he said. "Rex was so weak when he told me where to send it, I wasn't sure I'd get it quite right." "I want to thank you for all you did for him," went on Roy.
There in the woodshed was little 'Lias, huddled in the corner behind some wood, crying and crying and crying, digging his fists into his eyes, his face all smeared with tears and dirt. And he was dressed again in his filthy, torn old overalls and ragged shirt. His poor little bare feet shone with a piteous cleanliness in that dark place. "What's the matter?
"Why should you think we do not wish to have you here?" "Well, you see, Sister oh, it is no use talking." Her thoughts seemed to float away, and it might be five or ten minutes before she would speak again. "I wish you would come to the woodshed, Sister. If not, I must leave you." "Oh, I'll go to the woodshed with you." "And will you help me with my work?" "I help you with your work!"
The house had been built and furnished for a large family. There were furnished bedrooms which Debby and Hester never entered except at cleaning time; below there were the old-fashioned parlor, the living-room with its air of comfort, the dining-room, kitchen and what in that locality was termed the shanty-kitchen. This last was a great room between the woodshed and kitchen proper.
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