“Good night, Matthew.”
“Miss, yer aunts is that worrited!”
“Good night, Matthew.”
“Well, miss,” with a sigh of resignation, “it does be awful cold here after dark. Sha’n’t I bring ye a blanket jist?”
“Good night, Matthew.”
Baffled, the old man went back to the house. His emotions were rioting within him; his sense of duty was dulled. He well knew he ought to tell the Flint ladies where the child was; and yet she had said there was no message, and somehow the little witch’s word seemed like an iron law.
But when he reached the farm-house and found the Misses Flint pale with real anxiety concerning their niece, he felt intuitively that their feelings had changed, and so he said:
“Well, yes, ma’am; I do know where she is.”
“Oh, Matthew, where?” cried Miss Priscilla, mistaking the cause of his hesitation; and Miss Dorinda said faintly:
“Is she down the well?”