"I wanter know why not? I won't have him snoopin' around there. It was understood when I sold Tingley that island that I reserved sartain rights——"
"This here is Mis' Tingley," interposed Preston, turning the old man's attention to the lady.
He was a brown, wrinkled old man, with sparse pepper-and-salt whiskers and a parrot-like nose. "Sharper" was written all over his hatchet features; but probably his provincialism and lack of book education had kept him from being a very dangerous villain.
"I wanter know!" exclaimed Rufus. "So you're Tingley's lady? Wal! do you take charge here?"
"Oh, no," laughed Mrs. Tingley. "My husband will be up here Christmas morning."
"Goin' to have Preston send that boy back to the mainland?"
"Oh, no, I shall not interfere. Mr. Tingley will attend to it when he comes. I think that would be best."
"Nothin' of the kind!" cried Blent, his little eyes snapping. "That boy's got no business over there—snooping round."
"What are you afraid of, Rufus? What do you think he'll find?" queried Preston, who was evidently not above aggravating the old fellow.
"Never you mind! Never you mind!" croaked Blent. "If you folks won't discharge him and put him off the island, I'll do it, myself."