"Women are the Devil for nerves."
Coming to the open door, however, he found her only busy in rubbing the
furniture with a bit of chamois-skin. She looked up at him, her face
very red, and the look in her face that children have when going out for
a holiday.
"How does thee think it looks, Andy?" her voice strangely low and rapid.
He looked at her curiously.
"I'm makin' it ready, thee knows. Pull to this shutter for me, lad. A
good many years I've been makin' it ready"--
"You shiver so, ye'd better go to bed, Jane."
"Yes. Only the white valance is to put to the bed; I'm done
then,"--going on silently for a while.
"I've been so long at it,"--catching her breath. "Hard scrapin', the
first years. We'd only a lease on the place at first. It's ours now, an'
it's stocked, an'--Don't thee think the house is snug itself, Andrew?
Thee sees other houses. Is't home-like lookin'? Good for rest"--
"Yes, surely. What are you so anxious an' wild about, Jane? It's yer own
house."
"I'm not anxious,"--trying to calm herself. "Mine, is it, lad? All mine;
nobody sharin' in it."
She laughed. In all these years he had never heard her laugh before; it
was low and full-hearted,--a live, real laugh.
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