“’Taint of the least consequence,” she said; “not a bit. I aint often so unhandy. Just hand me that broom there, an’ we’ll get the pieces together.”
Philip gave her a grateful and amused look at her clever device, and, passing near her, said, “Don’t talk any more about that story. Don’t let him see the picture! I’ll explain later.”
Mrs. Probasco not only heeded his words, but found a chance to put them into Obed’s ear. Obed looked at Touchtone curiously, as he took the hurried hint.
“Odd!” he thought to himself. “Dare say he don’t like the little boy to get such a story clearer in his mind. It aint such a pleasant one.”
Supper passed off, the Jennison topic avoided. They had an ever-ready substitute for it in the weather. The storm was at last ceasing. The rain was less, the wind shifting. Next morning might be fairly clear. Obed’s rheumatism, however, made it unlikely that they could leave so soon. The farmer was as anxious as they, generous-hearted fellow! but no risks must be run. They were too many miles from the coast. The morning would decide for them.
Gerald was disappointed of the photograph after supper. Mrs. Probasco absented herself some time from the room to try and lay her hands on it, “wherever she’d put it last,” but returned without it. Philip thanked her again by an expressive look. She was a discreet woman.
Gerald was decoyed away to bed. He was wakeful and tried to engage Philip in a murmured discussion of Obed’s story, and the possibility of there being any thing of private importance to Touchtone in it. But that Touchtone could not at once determine this he soon perceived; and inferring that not much could be properly expected of it the boy ceased talking and fell asleep.
Philip walked into the other room. He was a good deal more excited than he seemed.
“May I see that photograph you spoke of now, Mrs. Probasco?” he asked. “I’ve had a very special reason for keeping it from Gerald. I’m so much obliged to you both for helping me.”
Mrs. Probasco opened the book in which she had slipped it.