“I wa’n’t skeert,” the man replied, sullenly. “What was yeh after in there?”
“I was lookin’ fur you.”
“What fur?” The tone was still uneasily suspicious.
“I got somethin’ to tell yeh.”
“Well?”
“D’yeh knaow, I more’n half b’lieve this thing wa’n’t an accident at all. What’d yeh say ’f it sh’d turn aout to be a murder?”
Even in this faint light Melissa could see that Milton was much taken aback by the suggestion. He thrust his hands into his pockets, pulled them out again, shuffled his feet, stammered, and betrayed by other signs general among rustics his surprise.
“Pshaw—git aout!” he said at last; “what nonsense! Of caourse ’t was ’n accident. Didn’t th’ Cor’ner say sao? Daon’t ev’rybody knaow it?”
“Annie Fairchile don’t say sao. She don’t knaow it.”
The girl went on to relate the substance of Samantha’s revelations, adding unconsciously sundry embellishments which tended to throw a clearer light upon Seth as the chief figure in the mystery.