“How far had I best give in?” Larry estimated.
“Make it seven,” he ventured.
“Seven and then three dollars a week more if I cook and serve for you.”
Larry had overlooked this very important item.
“All right!” he agreed. “When can I come?”
“Right off.” Peneluna felt that she must get him under her eye as soon as possible. She moved to the door.
“You’ll make it straight with Mary-Clare?”
Larry was following the rigid form out into the gathering dark––a storm was rising; the bell on the distant island was ringing gleefully like a wicked little imp set free.
“I’ll tell her that you’re here and that she best let you stay on, if that’s what you mean.” Peneluna led the way over the well-worn path she had often trod before. “And, Larry Rivers, I don’t rightly know as I’m doing fair and square, but look at it as you will, it’s better me than another if anything is wrong. I served yer good father and I set a store by yer wife and child––and I want to hang hold of you all. I’ve let you have yer way down here, but I don’t want any ructions and I ain’t going to have Maclin’s crowd hinting and defiling anybody.”