Thar's—thar's somethin' I hed on my mind fur him to do fur me."

"For Casey to do?" she said.

He poured his coffee into his saucer and answered with a heavy effort at speaking unconcernedly.

"I'm agoin' to hev him fix the house," he said.

She was going to ask him what he meant to have done, but he did not give her time.

"Ianthy an' me," he said, "we'd useder say we'd do it sometime, an' I'm agoin' to do it now. The rooms, now, they're low—whar they're not to say small, they're low an'—an' old-timey. Thar aint no style to 'em. Them rooms to the Springs, now, they've got style to 'em. An' rooms kin be altered easy enough."

He drank his coffee slowly, set his saucer down and went on with the same serious air of having broached an ordinary subject.

"Goin' to the Springs has sorter started me off," he said. "Seein' things diff'rent does start a man off. Casey an' his men'll be here Monday."

"It seems so—sudden," Louisiana said. She gave a slow, wondering glance at the old smoke-stained room. "I can hardly fancy it looking any other way than this. It wont be the same place at all."

He glanced around, too, with a start. His glance was hurried and nervous.

"Why, no," he said, "it wont, but—it'll be stylisher. It'll be kinder onfamil'ar at first, but I dessay we shall get used to it—an' it'll be stylisher. An' style—whar thar's young folks, thet's what's wanted—style."

She was so puzzled by his manner that she sat regarding him with wonder. But he went on talking steadily about his plans until the meal was over. He talked of them when they went back to the porch together and sat in the moonlight. He scarcely gave her an opportunity to speak. Once or twice the idea vaguely occurred to her that for some reason he did not want her to talk. It was a relief to her only to be called upon to listen, but still she was puzzled.

"When we git fixed up," he said, "ye kin hev your friends yere. Thar's them folks, now, as was yere the other day from the Springs—when we're fixed up ye mought invite 'em—next summer, fur instants. Like as not I shall be away myself an'—ye'd hev room a plenty. Ye wouldn't need me, ye see. An', Lord! how it'd serprise 'em to come an' find ye all fixed."

"I should never ask them," she cried, impetuously. "And—they wouldn't come if I did."

"Mebbe they would," he responded, gravely, "if ye was fixed up."

"I don't want them," she said, passionately. "Let them keep their place. I don't want them."

"Don't ye," he said, in his quiet voice. "Don't ye, Louisianny?"

And he seemed to sink into a reverie and did not speak again for quite a long time.

 

 

 

CHAPTER XI.

A RUSTY NAIL.

On Monday Casey and his men came. Louisiana and her father were at breakfast when they struck their first blow at the end of the house which was to be renovated first.

The old man, hearing it, started violently—so violently that he almost upset the coffee at his elbow.

He laughed a tremulous sort of laugh.

"Why, I'm narvous!" he said. "Now, jest to think o' me a-bein' narvous!"

"I suppose," said Louisiana, "I am nervous as well. It made me start too. It had such a strange sound."

"Waal, now," he answered, "come to think on it, it hed—sorter. Seems like it wasn't sca'cely nat'ral.