Poor Davy, detached by his duties and environments from the common gossip of his kind, bent a puzzled look upon his companion.
"Land-lubber-of-the-Hills? What in the name o' Sin be ye talkin' of?"
"Don't you know what they say 'bout her?" asked Mark, his dull eyes fixed on the sail of the Comrade, as it put off from the dock.
"No. I ain't never had time, above my duties, to do more'n sleep an' eat," David replied. "But I've got time now t' stand up fur that girl yonder, if any consarned gossip takes t' handlin' her name lightly. That girl's put in my care by Billy, an' Billy an' me have stood by each other through many a gale. An' now, Mark Tapkins, I'd like t' hear what ye've got t' say out plain an' unvarnished. I don't want no gibin'. I only got one way o' hearin' an' talkin'." Mark drew back from the calm, lowering face of the keeper.
"Nation!" he gasped, "you don't think I'm agin her, do you, Davy?"
"I ain't carin' whether ye be or no. Like as not, if she's shook ye, yer full of resentment. Them is young folks' ways. But fur or agin her, if ye can harbor scandal about Billy's Janet, ye've got t' share it with me what knows how t' strangle it fust an' last. Spit it out now!"
Mark drew himself together with a mighty effort. Recent events were wearing upon his vitality.
"They say, Janet is mixed up 'long with a feller what painted her, over on the Hills!" he spoke as guiltily as though he alone were responsible for the report.
"Who says so?" Davy's bushy eyebrows almost hid his kindly eyes.
"Well, Mrs. Jo G. fur one!"