And when Willie was balked
in an "idee" that had "kitched him," and left half-a-dozen strings and
wires swinging in mid-air for weeks together, Celestina would patiently
duck her head as she passed beneath them and offer no protest more
emphatic than to remark:
"Them strings hangin' down over the sink snare me every time I wash a
dish. Ain't you calculatin' ever to take 'em down, Willie?"
The reply vouchsafed would be as mild as the suggestion:
"I reckon they ain't there for eternity, Tiny," the inventor would
respond. "Like as not both you an' me will live to see 'em out of the
way."
That was all the satisfaction Celestina would get from her feeble
complaints; it was all she ever got. Yet in spite of the exasperating
response she adored Willie who had been to her the soul of kindliness
and courtesy ever since she had come to the bluff to live. He might
forget to come to his meals,--forget, in fact, whether he had eaten
them or not; he might venture forth into the village with one gray sock
and one blue one; or when part way to the post-office become lost in
reverie and return home again without ever reaching his destination.
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