“Hes—Miss Barb’ry heard f’om——”
“No; not that I know of. And I call it strange—very str-range. Don’t you, Mr. Morrison?”
Peg removed his hat and thoughtfully fumbled the scanty locks behind his ears.
“‘Tis kind o’ queer; that’s so,” he agreed.
Miss Cottle bent forward, her lean features quivering with emotion.
“And to cap the climax,” she said, “the girl’s gone and engaged herself to be married.”
“Who? Not Miss Barb’ry?”
Miss Cottle nodded confirmation.
“To that young Whitcomb fellow,” she concluded acidly.