Her throat
filled chokingly.
She felt a wild rush of loneliness. She had a sudden realization of
how dear that gaunt old figure was, with its grizzled face and ready
smile. Her breath came quick and quicker, and she was at the point
of bursting into a wild cry to Tewksbury when she heard a strange
noise. It came from the barn, a creaking noise. She looked that way
and saw in the shadowed side a deeper shadow moving to and fro.
A revulsion to astonishment and anger took place in her.
"Land o' Bungay! If he ain't paintin' that barn, like a perfect old
idiot, in the night."
Uncle Ethan, working desperately, did not hear her feet pattering
down the path, and was startled by her shrill voice.
"Well, Ethan Ripley, whaddy y' think you're doin' now?"
He made two or three slapping passes with the brush and then
snapped out, "I'm a-paintin' this barn-whaddy ye s'pose? II ye had
eyes y' wouldn't ask."
"Well, you come right straight to bed. What d'you mean by actin'
so?"
"You go back into the house an' let me be. I know what I'm a-doin'.
You've pestered me about this sign jest about enough." He dabbed
his brush to and fro as he spoke. His gaunt figure towered above
her in shadow.
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