His slapping brush had a vicious sound.
Neither spoke for some time. At length she said more gently, "Ain't
you comin' in?"
"No-not till I get a-ready. You go 'long an' tend to y'r own business.
Don't stan' there an' ketch cold."
She moved off slowly toward the house. His shout subdued her.
Working alone out there had rendered him savage; he was not to
be pushed any further. She knew by the tone of his voice that he
must now be respected.
She slipped on her shoes and a shawl, and came back where he
was working, and took a seat on a sawhorse.
"I'm goin' to set right here till you come in, Ethan Ripley," she said
in a firm voice, but gentler than usual.
"Wal, you'll set a good while," was his ungracious reply, but each
felt a furtive tenderness for the other. He worked on in silence. The
boards creaked heavily as he walked to and fro, and the slapping
sound of the paint brush sounded loud in the sweet harmony of
the night. The majestic moon swung slowly round the corner of the
barn and fell upon the old man's grizzled head and bent shoulders.
The horses inside could be heard stamping the mosquitoes away
and chewing their hay in pleasant chorus.
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