“I—I am glad you came,” observed Beatrice a little shakily. The incident had been an unpleasant one, nor could she guess what the result would have been had not help appeared from such an unexpected quarter.
“I am glad also,” he returned gravely. “A strange creature who called himself a reporter stopped me at my door as I was starting for the village. He asked me a great many impudent questions, but he happened to mention that he had seen Thorvik going in through your gate. At that, I rode off at once, leaving him with his mouth and his note-book both still open. Here comes our journalistic friend now. He seems to find this morning sun a trifle uncomfortable.”
Very hot and wilted did Dabney Mills look as he came trudging down the path, his handkerchief stuck into his over-tall but exceedingly limp white collar. Yet his inquiring spirit still seemed undismayed. He stopped where John Herrick’s nervous black pony was tied, peered over the fence, and poised his pencil once more above a page.
“Won’t you just tell me——” he began.
“I have told you already,” said John Herrick, “that I have nothing to say. When the men get rid of their leader and come to me willing to work again, we will inquire into this matter of the company’s finances. But while they are not in our employ, the company’s money is none of their business. Until Thorvik leaves Ely and the laborers stop talking of strikes, things shall stand exactly as they are.”
His tone was so final that even Dabney Mills realized that this was the end of the interview and walked on unwillingly in the direction Thorvik had gone. John Herrick caught Buck, gave the rein to Beatrice, and went to untie his own horse, but hesitated a moment before mounting. His manner assumed suddenly a stiff shyness quite unlike his cordiality of a moment before.
“There is one thing more,” he began. “I have been away for some days, but I now understand from Hester that your aunt, who is with you, has been ill. Is that true?”
“Yes,” assented Beatrice. She was puzzled by his change of manner, but she still felt that his kindness invited confidence, and she told him fully of the state of Aunt Anna’s health and how concerned they were about her.
“I wanted to suggest,” John Herrick went on slowly, “that there is a doctor who lives on the other side of Gray Cloud Mountain, a man who does not practise now, but who has been a famous specialist for just such illness. He could help your aunt, I know. He would come to see her if I asked him, for he has always been a good friend to me. Would you care to consult him?”
“Oh, indeed I would. How kind of you, how wonderfully good to have thought of it!” exclaimed Beatrice. She had seen the regular doctor of Broken Bow Valley and had not felt that he could help them very greatly.