Aunt Kate seemed to be drawn
toward him when he put out his hands. Nan saw their lips meet,
and then the giant gently, almost reverently, kissed the horrid
scar on Aunt Kate's neck.
"Here's Nan!" cried the big lumberman jovially. "The pluckiest
and smartest little girl in seven states! Take her in out of the
cold, Kate. She's not used to our kind of weather, and I have
been watching for the frost flowers to bloom on her pretty face
all the way from the forks."
The woman drew Nan into the warm kitchen. Uncle Henry followed
in a minute with the trunk.
"Where'll I put this box, Kate?" he asked. "I reckon you've
fixed up some cozy place for her?"
"The east room, Hen," Aunt Kate replied. "The sun lies in there
mornings. I took the new spring rocker out of the parlor, and
with the white enameled bedstead you bought in Chicago, and the
maple bureau we got of that furniture pedlar, and the best
drugget to lay over the carpet I reckon Nannie has a pretty
bedroom."
Meanwhile Nan stared openly around the strange kitchen. The
joists and rafters were uncovered by laths or plaster. Muslin,
that had once been white, was tacked to the beams overhead for a
ceiling. The smoke from the cookstove had stained it to a deep
brown color above the stove and to a lighter, meerschaum shade in
the corners.
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