"Yes, it's for fortune, if that's what you call it," said Richard bluntly. "I'm tired of Mossvale, and I'm going to strike out, that is if I can get consent. I've spoken to mother about it already, and if—"
A heavy knock on the back stoop caused Richard to stop speaking. Going to the door, he was confronted by Nicholas Boswell, a young farmer who lived a short distance down the road.
"Hello, Nick!" exclaimed Richard. "That you? Come in!"
Nicholas Boswell was pale, and his face showed a troubled expression.
For several seconds ho seemed hardly able to speak.
"No, thank'ee, Dick," he said at last. "I come to tell you that—" and here his eyes roved over to Nancy and Grace, and he stopped short.
"What?" asked the boy. "You ain't sick, are you?" he continued, noticing the unusual pallor on the other's countenance.
"Oh, no, I ain't sick," replied Boswell. "I never get sick. I was never sick in my life—'cepting when I was a babby. But I—that is—there's a man—some men wants to see you," he faltered.
"To see me! Where?"
"They are down the road aways. I'll show you."
"What do they want?"