Happy Island

He regarded her kindly as she stood in the doorway, her curls freshened i

ance at the disorde

you got here,” he said. He gathered in an armful of boots and shoes and

You put those right down and bring me a pail of water and some wood—” she looked in the box, “—and a littl

with slow content and moving in supreme restfulness toward the well. When he returned the room was in order,

He glanced toward the inner doo

kly. “I called

him sleep,” repl

ed a dipper of water and carried it

kfast with us?” asked Uncle W

in the kindling-wood myse

opened and Benjy came out—yawning, but brisk. “Well, we’ve g

“I thought you ’d kind o’ min

mind getting up—It’s waiting

le—“Guess George is going out.” He glanced behind him. The girl had stepped outside the door a minute and Uncle W

akfast, William—and be than

of deep craft was in his eye. When B

u go tell Ordway what you want and I’ll talk to him ’bout it when I

and Uncle William pottered abou

up quickly. “I th

tend to.” He strayed into the bedroom and when he came out she was seated by the window paring

am. He glanced past her, out of the win

d not

ing’s going out,”

ished another potato, with efficiency, and

est young man on the Island, I gue

h flitted at

the window and re

ned. “He ’d make a dretful

ed. She held the knife in her hand, and she w

k reproachfully. “You don’t ha

omptly. She took up another potato

n’ to be married?” he asked happily, “I mig

not engaged any more,” s

thy. “I didn’t know ’t you ’d lost any

d line between her eyes, “He wasn’t

e died?” asked

nd threw out her hands in a quick ges

y so?” demande

he returned, a little g

liam look

ry him—nor anybody!” She lifted her

mean you promised him and then wouldn’t—?

. “I only loved his hair anyway,” she said. There was silence

and it was yellow—like gold—and

,” said Uncle William h

ve got you to take care of and that’s enough!” She glanced at him, almost tenderly, and carried the potatoes to the sink. “It makes you feel foolish,” she said, splashing the

ut at the sun. “It’s g

et married, Celia—” he said slowly, “I like to think about homes and buildin’ ’e

htfully. “I don’t know’s I do,” she

real home,” said Un

her hands on the towel, looking down at them. “I know what you mean, Mr. Benslow—about ’little ones’—I guess every woman knows about that—and wants ’em,” she added

d anything I said, Celia. I’m kind o’ old and foolish, like enough.” The girl did not reply. But when he had gone, she