“Maybe they overlooked it in the darkness and the storm,” said Cissy simply. “Good-by, sir.”
The preacher held her hand for an instant in his powerful, but gently graduated grasp. “Good-by until evening service.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cissy.
The young girl tripped on towards her house a little agitated and conscious, and yet a little proud as she saw the faces of her aunt, her uncle, her two cousins, and even her discarded escort, Jo Adams, at the windows, watching her.
“So,” said her aunt, as she entered breathlessly, “ye walked home with the preacher! It was a speshal providence and manifestation for ye, Cissy. I hope ye was mannerly and humble—and profited by the words of grace.”
“I don't know,” said Cissy, putting aside her hat and cloak listlessly. “He didn't talk much of anything—but the old wreck of the Tamalpais.”
“What?” said her aunt quickly.
“The wreck of the Tamalpais, and the boat's crew that came up the gorge,” repeated the young girl.
“And what did HE know about the boat's crew?” said her aunt hurriedly, fixing her black eyes on Cissy.
“Nothing except what I told him.”