Mr. Dana thanked Quincy for his defence of his daughter from further insult and perhaps injury.
“I've been in a good many scraps myself, Mr. Sawyer. For seventeen years I was a member of the detective squad in Boston. I resigned because of injuries received in a fight with some bank robbers,” and he pointed to the crutches beside his chair, “and although they wanted me to stay at police headquarters I wouldn't hang onto a job I couldn't do to my own satisfaction.”
“I hope your daughter will have no further trouble with Mr. Wood.”
“No danger, Mr. Sawyer. She is going to boarding school very soon to finish her education. Why, Mary, we have been very remiss. Can you not offer Mr. Sawyer some refreshment?”
Mary smiled and ran from the room.
“You'll be lonely without her,” remarked Quincy.
“Yes, certainly, but I shall not be alone. It's a secret as yet, but the fact is I'm going to marry a young lady who lives in Westvale, part of Eastborough, you know, and I don't wish to force Mary to live with a step-mother. I think they would agree all right, but my plan will prevent any possible unpleasantness. I love them both too well to make them, and myself, unhappy.”
Some dainty cakes, fruit, and cold well water were served in the dining room. Quincy ate slowly, but his thoughts were not about the food. He had shown little interest in the Fernborough girls with the exception of those in the families of his relatives and closest friends. But he was nearing the susceptible age, when, to a pure-minded boy, a girl playmate, by some mysterious transformation, becomes an object of admiration, and even veneration. That delicious mystery that surrounds young womanhood was attracting him. Mary was the cause of his newly-awakened interest, and soon a strong friendship sprang up between the two.
When Hiram heard that Quincy had got the best of young Bob Wood he ran back to the store and told his partner.
“Say, Strout, you can run the store for an hour or so. I must tell Mandy. She'll be 'mos' tickled to death.”