“A dollar, Jan-an? A whole dollar?” This was almost unbelievable. Jan-an produced the evidence from her loose and soiled blouse.
“He left his place terribly tidy, too,” she ran on, “and when a man does that Peneluna says it’s awful suspicious.”
“Jan-an, you wait here––I’m going up to the cabin!”
Noreen stood up defiantly. She was possessed by one of her sudden flashes of inspiration.
“Yer ain’t been called,” warned Jan-an.
“I know, but I must go. I’ll only peep in. Maybe Motherly took a back way to the inn.”
To this Jan-an had nothing to say and she sat down upon a wet rock to wait, while Noreen darted up the trail like a small, distracted animal of the woods.
It was growing dark and heavy with storm; the thunder was more distinct––there was a hush and a breathless suggestion of wind held in check by a mighty force.
Noreen reached the shack and peeped in at the vine-covered window. What she saw marked a turning-point in the child’s life.
Mary-Clare was still stretched upon the floor. Several things had happened to her since Larry fled; she was never clearly to account for them.