“Nearly three weeks.”
The young man gave an exclamation of surprise, and then, with a gentle wave of his hand, he said, “Don’t stand.” Agnes drew up a low stool. She was not very used to courtly ways and they embarrassed her, so she sat looking down at her brown hands folded on her lap, and wished she could think of some excuse to take her downstairs.
For some time there was silence, the girl feeling conscious that she was being steadfastly regarded by a pair of big brown eyes.
“I remember now,” the young man broke the silence by saying. “I have seen you before, and that good woman you speak of as Polly called you Nancy. That is one of the things I remember. I don’t know what came next, for I drifted off into that dreamy world I have been in for so long.”
“Yes, almost every one calls me Nancy, but my name is Agnes, Agnes Kennedy.”
“It is a pretty name. Mine is Parker Willett. The boys call me Park. Now will you tell me how long you have lived here and something about yourself?”
“We came from near Carlisle, Pennsylvania. My father had to give up our old home, and we came out here together more than a year, nearly two years, ago. We lived for a time in another settlement, but it was raided by the Indians and most of the houses were burned. My father was badly hurt at the same time, and he has never been the same since. Some of our good friends were coming this way, and my mother’s father some years ago settled not very far from Marietta. He left some property that we thought belonged to my mother, so we were going right there, but some one else claims it. Then Polly came, and we took up this land and built this little cabin; but when summer came, we were afraid of the Indians, and went back to the fort. We stayed there till we thought it would be safe to come back here, and so we came.”
“And found your home had been occupied?”
“Yes, but we thought it was Jerry Hunter who had been here. He said he would come and look after things once in a while.”
“It was I, you see.”