But what is it puzzlin' you ?" he asked, looking up as he counted.
She held out the book, but not as he had handed it.

The light breeze had blown over two or three of its leaves, covering the page of accounts.
"Oh, _that ?_" he stammered, and a blush spread to his ears.

"I didn' mean you to see--" "What is it ?" "Well--it's potery, if you must know.

Leastways it's meant to be potery.

I make it sometimes." "Why ?" "To relieve my feelin's." "'Pears to me your feelin's want a deal o' relievin', one way an' another.