“Yes! You’re Nelson Haley,” she sighed. “But oh, my dear! you don’t look like him.”
At that Nelson gave a weak laugh, and Mrs. Beasely came hurrying in to see what was the matter.
“Goodness me! you mustn’t make him laugh, Lottie,” cried the anxious widow.
“What shall I do?” asked Lottie. “Make him cry? It don’t seem as though that would make him any better,” and Nelson laughed again, sat up in bed, and demanded more broth.
“For the land’s sake!” ejaculated Mrs. Beasely. “You’re talking like a re’l convalescent now. And this young lady,” and she tweaked Lottie’s ear, “is a-doin’ you more good than the other one.”
Nelson looked up quickly. “What other one?” he asked.
“Oh my! don’t you remember of her comin’ to see ye?” asked the widow, smiling and smirking. “Oh my!”
“Do you mean——?”
“Miss Bowman,” said Mrs. Beasely. “You axed to see her, you know, and she was mighty kind to come, I should say. She sent them flowers yonder. Got ’em from Popham Landing.”
Nelson’s brow was knitted while he sipped the broth. “So I asked to see Annette?” he murmured.