"I told him," Jennison said. "I tipped him, too."
"Thanks," the girl replied. "I was so excited, I forgot."
She leaned eagerly over the rail, peering at the dock. Her eyes were shining. "I don't see him yet," she said. They were near enough now to hear the voices of those ashore, gay voices calling flippant greetings. The big ship edged gingerly closer.
"There's Aunt Minerva," cried John Quincy suddenly. That little touch of home in the throng was very pleasant. "Is that your father with her?" He indicated a tall anemic man at Minerva's side.
"I don't see—where—" Barbara began. "Oh—that—why, that's Uncle Amos!"
"Oh, is that Amos?" remarked John Quincy, without interest. But Barbara had gripped his arm, and as he turned he saw a wild alarm in her eyes.
"What do you suppose that means?" she cried. "I don't see dad. I don't see him anywhere."
"Oh, he's in that crowd somewhere—"
"No, no—you don't understand! Uncle Amos! I'm—I'm frightened."
John Quincy didn't gather what it was all about, and there was no time to find out. Jennison was pushing ahead through the crowd, making a path for Barbara, and the boy meekly brought up the rear. They were among the first down the plank. Miss Minerva and Amos were waiting at the foot.