Barnes. Take that,
for instance. He'd left it or lost it somewheres, he knew that, and the
ordinary person would have been satisfied; but not Kenelm. No sir-ee!
He hunted and hunted till he found that umbrella and come fetchin' of it
home. 'Twas a week afore he did that, but when he did I says, 'Well,' I
says, 'you have got more stick-to-it than I thought you had. You--'"
"Where did he find it?" interrupted Thankful.
"Land knows! He didn't seem to know himself--just found it, he said.
He acts so sort of upsot and shameful about that umbrella that he and
I don't talk about it any more. But it did show that he had a sense of
responsibleness, and a good one. Anybody that'll stick to and persecute
a hunt for a lost thing the way he done will stick to a job the same
way. Don't you think so yourself, Mrs. Barnes?"
Thankful was not convinced, but she yielded. When she told Captain Bangs
he laughed and observed: "Yup, well, maybe so. Judgin' by other jobs
Kenelm's had he'll stick to this one same as he does to his bed of
a Sunday mornin'--lay down on it and go to sleep. However, I presume
likely he ought to have the chance. Of course Hannah's idea is plain
enough. Long's he's at work over here, she can keep an eye on him. And
it's a nice, satisfactory distance from the widow Larkin, too."
So Kenelm came daily to work and did work--some. When he did not he
always had a plausible excuse. As a self-excuser he was a shining light.
Thankful had, during the repairs on the house, waited more or less
anxiously for developments concerning the mystery of the little back
bedroom.
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