"Are you going down to the cove to see Narnay now, Mr. Trimmins?"
Janice asked, as she turned the automobile into the head of High Street.
"Yes, ma'am. That is, if I don't find him at Lem Parraday's."
"Oh, Mr. Trimmins!" exclaimed Janice, earnestly. "Look for him at the house first. And don't you go near Lem Parraday's, either."
"Wal!" drawled the man. "I s'pose you air right, Miss."
"I'll drive you right down to the cove," Janice said. "I want to see little Sophie, and—and her mother."
"Whatever you say, Miss," agreed the woodsman.
They followed a rather rough street coveward, but arrived safely at the small collection of cottages, in one of which the Narnays lived. Jim Narnay was evidently without money, for he sat on the front stoop, sober and rather neater than Janice was used to seeing him. He was whittling a toy of some kind for the little boys, both of whom were hanging upon him.
Their attitude, as well as what Sophie Narnay had told her, assured Janice that the husband and father of the household was not a cruel man when he was sober. The children still loved him, and he evidently loved them.
"Got a job, Jim?" asked Trimmins, after thanking Janice for the ride, and getting out of the automobile.
"Not a smitch of work since I come out of the woods," admitted the bewhiskered man, rising quickly from the stoop to make way for Janice.