A fine sawdust coated his hair and shoulders, for he had been working in the shed where he eked out his farming by making spinning wheels for his neighbours.
He came softly to the bedside and looked down at his wife.

His face was gentle and puzzled.
"Reckon you're better, dearie," he said in a curious harsh toneless voice.
The sick woman moved her head feebly in the direction of the stool and he lifted the pannikin of water to her lips.
"Cold enough ?" he asked, and his wife nodded.

"Abe fetches it as reg'lar as a clock." "Where's Abe ?" she asked, and her voice for all its feebleness had a youthful music in it.
"I heerd him sayin' he was goin' down to the crick to cotch a fish.

He reckoned you'd fancy a fish when you could eat a piece.

He's a mighty thoughtful boy, our Abe.