"You're going to be a blessing in
this house, Ida May."
"I hope you'll always say so, Uncle Ira," returned the girl, smiling
at him.
"I cal'late. Now I'll get washed, but that derned shavin'."
"You sit down in that rocker and I'll shave you," she said briskly.
"Oh, I can do it! I shaved my own father when he was sick last--"
She stopped, turned away, and fell silent. It was the first time
she had spoken of either of her parents, but Cap'n Ira did not
notice her sudden confusion. He prepared for the ordeal, making his
own lather and opening the razor.
"I can't strop it, Ida May," he groaned. "That's one of the things
that's beyont my powers."
She came to him with a clean towel which she tucked carefully in at
the neckband of his shirt. Practically she lathered his face and
rubbed the lather into the stubble with brisk hands. He grunted
ecstatically, lying back in the chair in solid comfort. He eyed her
manipulation of the razor on the strop with approval.
For the first time in many a morning he was shaved neatly and with
dispatch. When Prudence came feebly into the room, he hailed her
delightedly.
"You've lost your job, old woman!" he cried.
"And ain't there a thing for me to do?" queried Prudence softly, yet
smiling.
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