“The danger was only from a chance recognition in the street,” he replied, smiling, “and it would have been equally dangerous for the man who recognized me, and perhaps more so, since I was on the lookout–that balances. I would be the last man anyone would expect to be in Ford’s Station at this time, and once free of the town, I could elude the pursuers in the dark. And as for the sheriff, I knew that he was not at home to-night, and, had he been so, I doubt if it would have stayed me, for he is fair and square, and an unarmed man is safe with him in his own house. He understands what a truce means, and we had one before.”
Mrs. Shields smiled at him in such warmth that he thanked his stars that he had played fair out by the bowlder.
“He told us of that!” Helen exclaimed, laughingly. “It was splendid of you, both of you. And, do you know, I liked you much better for it. And I wanted to meet you again and talk with you; I’m dreadfully curious.”
“Helen!” reproved her sister, and, turning from the girl to him, she tried to explain away her sister’s boldness. “You must excuse Helen, Mr.–Mr. Orphan, because she is not a day older than she was five years ago.”
“Why, Mary!” cried Helen, reproachfully, “how can you say that? Just the other day you said that I was quite grown up and dignified. I am sure that Mr.–oh, goodness, there’s that name again!” she bewailed. “Why don’t you get another name–that one sounds so funny!”
The Orphan laughed: “I am not responsible for the name, I had no hand in it. But, let’s see what we can do,” he said, counting on his fingers. “There’s Smith, Brown, Jones–Jones sounds well, why not say it?” he asked gravely. “I am sure that’s easier to say and remember.”
“Yes, that is better!” she cried. “Let’s see,” she said, experimenting. “Mr. Jones, Mr. Jones–oh, pshaw, I like the other much better. I trust that I’ll get accustomed to it in time, and I certainly should, because I hear it enough; only then it hasn’t that formal Mister before it. And it is the Mister that causes all the trouble. Now, I’ll try it again: I’m sure that The Orphan (I said that real nicely, didn’t I?) I’m sure that The Orphan doesn’t think me lacking in dignity, does he?” she asked, regarding him merrily, and with a dare in her eyes.
“Well, now really,” he began, and then, seeing the look of warning in her face, he laughed softly. “Why, really, I think that you must be much more dignified than you were five years ago.”
“That’s such a neat evasion that I hardly know whether to be angry or not,” she retorted, and then turned to Miss Ritchie, who was smiling.
“Grace,” she cried, “for goodness sake, say something! You don’t want me to do all the talking, do you?” and before her friend could say a word she began a new attack, her eyes sparkling at the fun she was having.