He followed, leading the horse, and stood beside the wagon, the reins in his hand.
“I thank you,” pa said. “We’ll use in the shed yonder. I know it’s a imposition on you.”
“You’re welcome to the house,” Armstid said. He had that wooden look on his face again; that bold, surly, high-coloured rigid look like his face and eyes were two colours of wood, the wrong one pale and the wrong one dark. His shirt was beginning to dry, but it still clung close upon him when he moved.
“She would appreciate it,” pa said.
We took the team out and rolled the wagon back under the shed. One side of the shed was open.
“It won’t rain under,” Armstid said. “But if you’d rather …”
Back of the barn was some rusted sheets of tin roofing. We took two of them and propped them against the open side.
“You’re welcome to the house,” Armstid said.
“I thank you,” pa said. “I’d take it right kind if you’d give them a little snack.”
“Sho,” Armstid said. “Lula’ll have supper ready soon as she gets Cash comfortable.” He had gone back to the horse and he was taking the saddle off, his damp shirt lapping flat to him when he moved.
Pa wouldn’t come in the house.
“Come in and eat,” Armstid said. “It’s nigh ready.”
“I wouldn’t crave nothing,” pa said. “I thank you.”