"Oh, it's all right, I suppose. If I was in his place maybe I'd like to be worried about, too," and away went Mont, whistling quite a merry air.
The young girl entered the kitchen and lit the lamp. It was now half-past eight, and as the people of the neighborhood were hard workers. who retired early, the streets were comparatively quiet.
She left the supper dishes upon the table, and putting some extra coal into the stove, set the tea and other things so that they might keep warm.
It was a dreary evening for her. She did not care much to read--actual life interested her far more than books--and now all her thoughts were centered on Jack.
"It's a pretty long walk from that farmer's place," she kept saying to herself. "But he will come soon, oh, he must come soon."
Her reflections were broken by hearing an unknown step upon the stairs, followed by a sharp rap at the door.
Hardly knowing whom to expect at this hour of the night, she bade the person enter.
The newcomer was Dennis Corrigan!
Deb did not know the man. She had seen him on the streets, but though he was fairly well dressed, she was not taken by his general appearance.
"Does Jack Willington live here?" asked Corrigan, with a hasty glance around the kitchen, to see who might be present.