And now she had come to that other door. She must see what was there.
"Having a look at the shack?"
She gave a stifled scream and for a moment turned so pale that he hastily set down his pail and went over to her.
"I guess you're all tuckered out," he said kindly. "No wonder. You've had quite a little excitement the last day or two."
With a tremendous effort, Nora recovered her self-control. She walked steadily over to one of the packing-box stools and sat down.
"It was silly of me, but you don't know how you startled me. Don't think I usually have nerves, but--but the place was strange last night and I didn't sleep very well."
"Do you mind if I open the door a moment?" she asked after a short pause. "It isn't really cold and it looks so beautiful outside. One can't see anything out of the window, you know, it's so cobwebby. I must clean it--to-morrow."
Try as she would, her voice faltered on the last word.
She threw open the door and stood a moment looking out into the bright Canadian night brilliant with stars. It was all so big, so open, so free--and so lonely! You could fairly hear the stillness. But she must not think of that. Ah, there was the light that she had been told was the Sharp's farm. Somehow, it brought her comfort. But even as she watched, the light went out. She came in and closed the door.
CHAPTER XII
He was sitting on one of the stools, pipe in mouth, reading a newspaper he had already read in the train.
"Well, what do you think of the shack?"
"I don't know."
"I built it with my own hands. Every one of them logs was a tree I cut down myself. You wait till morning and I'll show you how they're joined together, at the corners. There's some neat work there, my girl, I guess."
"Yes? Oh, I was forgetting; here's the kettle." She brought it over to him from the shelf. He filled the kettle carefully from the pail while she stood and watched him. She took it from his hand and set it on the stove to boil.
"You'll find some tea in one of them cans on the shelf; leastways, there was some there when I come away. I reckon you're hungry."
"I don't think I am, very. I ate a very good supper on the train, you know."
"I'm glad you call that a good supper. I guess I could wrap up the amount you ate in a postage stamp."
"Well," she said with a smile, "you may be glad to learn that I haven't a very large appetite."
"I have, then. Where's the loaf we got in Winnipeg this afternoon?"
"I'll get it."
"And the butter. You'll bake to-morrow, I reckon."
"You're a brave man--unless you've forgotten my first attempt at Eddie's," she said with a laugh as she took the loaf and butter from the bag.
For some reason her mood had completely changed. All her confidence in being perfectly able to take care of herself had returned. She had been frightened, badly frightened a moment ago at nothing. Nerves, nothing more. Nerves were queer things. It was because she hadn't slept last night. She was such a good sleeper naturally that a wakeful night affected her more than it did most people. The cool night air had completely restored her.
She hunted about until she found a knife, and with the loaf in one hand and the knife poised in the air asked:
"Shall I cut you some?"
"Yep."
"Please."
"Please what?"
"Yep, please," she said with a gay smile.
"Oh!" he growled.
Still smiling, she cut several slices of bread and buttered them. Going to the shelf, she found the teapot and shook some tea into it from one of the cans, measuring it carefully with her eye. His momentary ill humor, caused by her correcting him, vanished as he watched her.
"I guess it's about time you took your hat and coat off," he said with a chuckle.
As a matter of fact, she was not conscious that they were still on. Without a word, she took them off and, having given her coat a little shake and a pat, looked about her for a place to put them. She ended finally by putting them both on the kitchen chair.
"You ain't terribly talkative for a woman, are you, my girl?"
"I haven't anything to say for the moment," said Nora.
"Well, I guess it's better to have a wife as talks too little than a wife as talks too much."
"I suppose absolute perfection is rare--in women, poor wretches," she said in the old ironic tone she had always used toward him while he was her brother's hired man.
"What's that?" he said sharply.
"I was only amusing myself with a reflection."
He checked an angry retort, and striding over to a nail in the wall, took off his coat and hung it up. Somehow, he looked larger than ever in his gray sweater. A sense of comfort and unaccustomed well-being restored him to good humor. Throwing himself into the rocker, he stretched out his long legs luxuriantly.
"I guess there's no place like home. You get a bit fed up with hiring out. Ed was O. K., I reckon, but it ain't like being your own boss."
"I should think it wouldn't be," said Nora quietly.
"Where does that door go?" she asked presently.
"That? Oh, into the bedroom. Like to have a look?"
"No."
"No what?" he said quickly.
Nora turned from the shelf where she had been contriving a place to put the things they had brought from the town, and looked at him inquiringly. His face was grave, but a twinkle in his eye betrayed him. She blushed charmingly to the roots of her hair, but her laugh was perfectly frank and good-humored. "I beg your pardon. I was so occupied with arranging my pantry that I forgot my manners. No, thank you."
"One can't be too careful about these important things," he said with rather heavy humor. "When I built this shack," he went on proudly--but the pride was the pride of possession, not of achievement--"I fixed it up so as it would do when I got married. Sid Sharp asked me what in hell I wanted to divide it up in half for, but I guess women like little luxuries like that."
"Like what?"
"Like having a room to sleep in and a room to live in."
"Here's the bread and butter," said Nora abruptly. "Will you have some syrup?"
"S-u-r-e." He got up out of the rocking chair and pulling one of the stools up to the table, sat down.
"The water ought to be boiling by now; what about milk?"
"That's one of the things you'll have to learn to do without till I can afford to buy a cow."
"I can't drink tea without milk."
"You try. Say, can you milk a cow?"
"I? No."
"Then it's just as well I ain't got one."
Nora laughed. "You are a philosopher."
Having filled the teapot with boiling water and set it on the table, she returned to the shelf and began moving the things about in search of something.
"What you looking for?"
"Is there a candle? I'll just get one or two things out of my box and bring in here."
"Ain't you going to sit down and have a cup of tea?"
"I don't want any, thanks."
"Sit down, my girl."
"Why?"
"Because I tell you to." The command was smilingly given.
"I don't think you'd better tell me to do things." Nora could smile, too.
"Then I ask you. You ain't going to refuse the first favor I've asked you?"
"Certainly not," she said in her most charming manner. Pulling another of the stools up to the table, she sat facing him.
"There."
"Now, pour out my tea for me, will you? I tell you," he said, watching her slim hands moving among the tea things, "it's rum seeing my wife sitting down at my table and pouring out tea for me."
"Is it pleasant?"
"Sure. Now have some tea yourself, my girl. You'll soon get used to drinking it without milk. And I guess you'll be able to get some to-morrow from Mrs. Sharp."