“Why, it’s sage,” said the girl, “or marjoram; I can’t quite tell which.”
why its sage
“Yes, yes!” grunted the Indian eagerly. “Make medicine, take home to sick Indians.” An idea came into the Captain’s head. “Wall, I vum!” he exclaimed. “She was after the yarbs out of Anne’s little yarb garden. Ask if that’s what she’s been comin’ for right along?” The old woman seemed to understand him, and began nodding assent. “Come two-three-four times, up there. Bad man’s house; nobody home. Medicine plants grow all alone. No white man want ’em. Me pick for sick Indian. Not thief, me!” She drew herself up proudly.
“That’s what I said,” Beverly nodded at her, smiling. “I was sure you weren’t doing anything really wrong.” But the Captain still seemed unsatisfied.
“All very well,” he said, “if that’s all. But she must have been there just at the time the fire started. Didn’t she see anybody? Can’t she tell anything? What about the cellar?”
“Me see! Me tell!” grunted Sal. “Not set fire. No! No! No!”
“No,” Beverly soothed her. “I understand. But what did you see, Sal? Tell me. Was somebody setting a fire?”
“Ugh!” grunted Sal. “Two men.” And she made the sign of measuring someone tall and someone short. “Big man, so! Little man, so! Bad men burn up bad man’s house. Bring out jugs,” she made the sign of drinking. “Run away when see me.”