He was a nice, fatherly kind of person, and he insisted on walking with Betty to the corner and pointing out the low roof of the mill down a side street.
"No water power, just electricity," he explained. "Give me a water mill, every time; this current stuff is mighty unreliable."
Betty thanked him, and hurried down the street. She was sure she saw the sorrel tied outside the mill, and when she reached the hitching posts, sure enough, there was the familiar old wagon, with some filled bags in it, and the drooping, tired old sorrel horse that had come to meet her when she stepped from the train at Hagar's Corners.
"Betty! For the love of Mike!" Bob's language was expressive, if not elegant.
Betty whirled. She had not seen the boy come down the steps of the mill office, and she was totally unprepared to hear his voice.
"Why, Bob!" The unmistakable relief and gladness that shone in her tired face brought a little catch to Bob's throat.
To hide it, he spoke gruffly.
"What are you doing here? It's after four o'clock, and I'll get Hail Columbia when I get back. Mill's been out of order all day, and I had to wait. Haven't you been to Doctor Guerin's?"
"No, not yet." Betty pulled at his sleeve nervously. "Oh, Bob, there's so much I must tell you! And after ten o'clock it will be too late. To think he thought I stole his old chickens! And where is Petria?"
Bob gazed at her in amazement. This incoherent stream of words meant nothing to him.