"Then sing the one you do know. It's worth hearing again!"
Again she sang it, as gayly as before, but for some reason, Nancy's voice trembled, and Dorothy turned to glance at her.
She saw that Nancy's cheeks were white, and her eyes wide as if with fear. A moment before her cheeks had been rosy red where the sharp wind had kissed them.
"What is it, Nancy?" Dorothy whispered.
Nancy shook her head, but the hand that held Dorothy's tightened with a nervous grip.
When the girls were once more chattering together, Nancy, leaning toward Dorothy, whispered softly: "That dark man that stood near the woods watching us as we passed,—did you see him?"
"Why, yes," whispered Dorothy, "but—" then she understood Nancy's fear. "Why, Nancy dear, your old Uncle Steve, who stole you from us once, is not living. Don't you remember that, and besides, that man didn't look the least bit like him."
"That man looked just like Bonfanti!"
"Oh,—oo," burst softly from Dorothy's lips, then she tried to comfort Nancy. "But why should he be wandering through the woods here? You've always said that he was a busy man, and once you heard him say that he had never been out of New York City."
"I know I did," Nancy said, "but I s'pose he could go somewhere else, and oh, Dorothy that man looked just like him!"