Mary turned quickly to her brother.
“Well, all I can say,” said Tommy, quietened now, “is that I seen her at Buckolts’ Gate that night. I was comin’ home from Two-Mile Flat, and I met Jim with his packhorse about a mile the other side of Buckolts’, and while we was talkin’ Harry Dale caught up, so I jist said ‘So-long’ an’ left ’em. And when I got to Buckolt’s Gate I seen Bertha Buckolt. She was standin’ under a tree, and she looked as if she was cryin’.”
But Mary got her bonnet and started out.
“Where are you going to, Mary?” asked her mother, starting up nervously.
“I’m going across to Buckolts’ to find out the truth,” said Mary, and she went out.
“Better let her go, Lizzie,” said Aunt Emma, detaining her sister.
“You’ve done it now, Uncle Abel.”
“Well, why didn’t she get the writings?” retorted Uncle Abel.
Half-way to Buckolts’ Mary met Bertha Buckolt herself, coming over to the selection for the first time since the night of the party. Bertha started forward to kiss Mary, but stopped short as Mary stood stock-still and faced her, with her hands behind her back.
“Why! whatever is the matter, Mary?” exclaimed Bertha.