SON OF THE WIND
own in any case," he declared. "They are better made. What do you want done with this?" And he took what she was carrying from her. Together they spread it on the ground, at a little distance from the house, just upon the edge of the pines.
They had handled a great many things together that afternoon, from the shellac for the dining-room floor to those marble statuettes, probably another relic of "Janfer's Folly," which startled out on one from niches in the wall, like miniature ghosts. They had seen each other repeatedly—taken instructions and given them. They had almost quarreled over the right tone for the floor stain. Evidences of character had expressed themselves in actions as well as in words. Nothing like work together to make enemies or friends! They had worked and certainly they were not enemies. Now, with the cessation of the turmoil, near the end of the day they paused. It seemed to him that he had come to know her with astonishing rapidity. She had grown from a strange to a familiar mystery—but mysterious still. Standing on the carpet she extended her arms above her head, stretching her whole body in a luxury of weariness. The absolute naturalness and unconsciousness of the gesture, the way she abandoned herself to it, relaxed to the finger-tips, was more moving than any deliberate glance. "Well,
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