"You must have forgotten your errand," she said, laughing. "You know perfectly well you started out to get some burlap."
"Burlap?"
Mr. Witherbee repeated the word with a rising inflection.
Rosalind had slipped behind Reginald and was making a frantic pantomime. The master of the island stared at her for a few seconds, wrinkling his forehead.
"Why, certainly," she said. "Don't you remember saying you were going to see if Mr. Davidson had some?"
"Oh, yes," answered Mr. Witherbee slowly. "Come to think of it, I did start out to get some. And just as you say, I forgot all about it. By the way, sit down, Williams. Take it easy. You must be tired after a long day's journey."
"Everybody seems to think I'm tired," sighed Reginald. "I guess in order not to disappoint them I'd better go to bed. Good night."
He stamped noisily inside and up the staircase.
"Is—is he all right?" asked Mr. Witherbee in a hoarse whisper.
"Oh, perfectly. We've kept him just as quiet as possible."