“Say, there’s a queer lot to the inn. They’re after you!”
Northrup started.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“A toot cart with an image setting up the front––and a dressy piece in the glass cage behind.”
So vivid was the picture that Jan-an portrayed that Northrup did not need to question.
“Lord! but she was togged out,” Jan-an went on, “but seemed like I felt she had black wings hid underneath.” Poor Jan-an’s flights of fancy always left her muddled. “If you want that I should tell her anything while you light out–––”
Northrup laughed.
“There, there, Jan-an,” he comforted. “Why, this is all right. You wanted me to know, in case––oh! but you’re a good sort! But see here, everything is safe and sound and”––Northrup paused, then suddenly––“to-morrow, Jan-an, I want you to go to––to Mary-Clare and tell her I left––good-bye for her and Noreen.”
“Yer––yer going away?” Jan-an writhed under the flashlight.
“Yes, Jan-an.”