Farwell laughed absently; his eyes were fixed on the water. Even in the Channel it had an angry look. The current was set from the Bay, and the stream rose and fell as if it had an ugly secret in its keeping.
"Mrs. McAdam," he said suddenly, "I'm going out to—to meet the boys!"
"God save ye, Mr. Farwell—for which?"
When Mary fell into that form of speech she was either troubled or infuriated.
"I'm restless; I feel like a fling. Come on, you scamps!" to his dogs, "get home and keep house till I come back."
His dogs leaped to him and then made for the Green. Without another word Farwell walked to his launch at the foot of the wharf steps and prepared for his trip.
A black wave of fear enveloped Mary McAdam. She was overcome by a certainty of evil, and, when Farwell's boat had disappeared, she strode to the Green and gave vent to her anxiety. There were those who comforted, those who jeered, but the men were largely away on fishing business, and the women and boys were more interested in her excitement than they were in her cause for fear.
It was eight o'clock and very dark when Doctor Ledyard, driving down from Far Hill Place for the mail, paused to listen to Mrs. McAdam's expressions of anxiety. Young Dick Travers was beside him, and Mary's words held him.
"Was Jerry-Jo with your boys, Mrs. McAdam?" he asked.
"He was that! And Jerry-Jo always brings ill-luck on a trip. I should have known better than to let the half-breed scamp go. 'Twas pity as moved me. Jerry-Jo is one as thinks rocking a boat is spirit, and yelling for help, when no help is needed, a rare joke. The young devil!"