“Dear me! Why, if you are a friend of his——” Nan paused.
“You will think better of me, I hope.”
“Any friend of Dr. Paul’s is a friend of ours. He is like a brother to us and has always been so good, to me in particular. I don’t know what I should have done without him in Munich.”
“Why, bless my soul, of course. I’ve heard him speak of the Corners dozens of times. How stupid of me. But one doesn’t readily associate Munich or Virginia with Maine, does one?”
“Not readily. You must let me thank you again for being good to Jack, and—yes, I think we might take a peep at the studio, if you don’t mind.”
“I shall be charmed.” He drew aside the curtain for them and they entered a good-sized room with high windows toward the north. On a large easel stood an unfinished picture. There were queer firearms and bits of pottery scattered about; a spinning-wheel stood in one corner; a table littered with drawings and books was on one side; some queer old chairs held place elsewhere; a lot of canvases stood against the easel and a number of sketches were pinned on the wall. “Here’s where we work sometimes,” Mr. Wells told them. “Pinch goes in a little for illustration, but I am doing outdoor work, figures once in a while.”
Nan looked interestedly at the pictures. They were delicate and tender in color yet showed a certain vigor and sincerity. “I like them,” she said simply.
“Thank you; that’s more real praise than the exuberant gush one often gets,” the artist responded.
Nan turned and looked at him. There was something familiar in his voice and looks. Where had she seen him before? Suddenly it came to her like a flash. “Why,” she exclaimed, “we have met before. Jack, don’t you remember the day we went up the mountain and it rained so? We were caught in the downpour and took refuge in that little hut.” Her eyes grew merry with the recollection.
“And you saved a starving man!” cried Mr. Wells. “Oh, yes, yes, I remember your friend who offered the bacon and bread, but I was too abashed to give a glance to the rest of you. Then, you see, Miss Nancy, heaven has permitted me to pay a part of my debt to your sister. Would that my friend, Pinch, were here!” He threw back his head and laughed. Nan laughed, too. “Weren’t we a sight?” he went on. “Those silly girls would rig up that way to go forth into the wilderness. They’d been staying over at Intervale, and came to this place for a day. One was Pinch’s sister; the other a friend of hers. Old Pinch has gone back with them and that is why I am solus.”