"He told me he would if she wasn't glad to see him; and if Miss Linda wants me to, I'll go after him, and stop him."
The girl's hands and feet moved restlessly as if she longed to be up and doing.
"Nonsense, child. Mr. Whitcomb is always joking."
"Oh, no, Miss Barry. He warn't jokin'. He said he was her beau, and Miss Linda wouldn't cry like that—" a spasm constricted the speaker's throat—"if she hadn't given him the mitten and warn't scared what he'd do."
"Law! Blanche Aurora, it's another man she was crying about."
The restless hands quieted and the little maid listened doubtfully. Her mind was so thoroughly made up as to the tragedy that it changed reluctantly.
"Wherever Miss Linda is," went on Miss Barry solemnly, "men spring up through the ground. Who'd ever think of those two coming here to have the finishing touch put on a sick man at Luella Benslow's! If I should hire a boat and take Miss Linda out there,"—Miss Barry indicated the sea,—"out as far as the eye can reach, mermen would begin coming to the surface and swarming up the side of the vessel."
"Oh, dear," gasped Blanche Aurora. The situation was worse than she had feared, thus complicated by a man so dear to Miss Linda that loyalty to her beau could not prevent her from sobbing her heart out about him.
"Let's take him here," she said as the fruit of her swift cogitation.
"Who?"