It was flushed.

And yet, Tant Sannie kept no wine--he had not been drinking; his eyes were wide open and bright--he had not been sleeping; there was no girl up there--he had not been making love.

Bonaparte looked at him sagaciously.
What would account for the marvellous change in the boy coming down the ladder from the boy going up the ladder?
One thing there was.

Did not Tant Sannie keep in the loft bultongs, and nice smoked sausages?
There must be something nice to eat up there! Aha! that was it! Bonaparte was so interested in carrying out this chain of inductive reasoning that he quite forgot to have his boots blacked.
He watched the boy shuffle off with the salt-pot under his arm; then he stood in his doorway and raised his eyes to the quiet blue sky, and audibly propounded this riddle to himself: "What is the connection between the naked back of a certain boy with a greatcoat on and a salt-pot under his arm, and the tip of a horsewhip?
Answer: No connection at present, but there will be soon." Bonaparte was so pleased with this sally of his wit that he chuckled a little and went to lie down on his bed.
There was bread-baking that afternoon, and there was a fire lighted in the brick oven behind the house, and Tant Sannie had left the great wooden-elbowed chair in which she passed her life, and waddled out to look at it.

Not far off was Waldo, who, having thrown a pail of food into the pigsty, now leaned over the sod wall looking at the pigs.