“I know you’re a good hearted old liar, Uncle,” he whispered. “And if you think a minute you’ll know why I know it! Don’t blame you. Joyce has a nasty temper and no matter where those kids are, we’ll round ’em up in the morning, anyway. Good night!”
“’Night,” returned Ol’ Man River. “Pleasant walk, suh!”
“Yep. The joke’s on us,” grinned the other and shut the door behind him.
Bill and Dorothy were about to move from their cramped positions when they saw the old man raise a finger to his lips in warning as apparently he studied the glowing embers of the fire.
The door suddenly opened and the same man stuck his head in.
“You’re a sly old fox,” he said. “I know you’ve got those kids hidden somewhere. Maybe they’re listening for all I know, and I can tell you, Uncle, they are getting a rotten deal. Joyce calls me Featherstone. Here’s my card. Give it to them. G’d-night.”
A bit of white pasteboard fluttered to the floor as the door slammed.
Uncle Abe got stiffly off his chair, shuffled over to the door and sent the bolt home. Then he picked up the card.
Bill pushed the pile of damp clothing off the boards, then swung himself down to the floor. Dorothy was beside him as he turned to catch her.
“Uncle Abe,” she said, taking the old man’s hand, “you are kind and you’re good, and you are very, very brave. Bill and I can never properly thank you for all you’ve done for us tonight.”