"I never said he ate it," grinned the man.
"Oh, don't joke about it! Dad, I love Oskar. He's—oh, he's everything a man should be, and it hurts me so to have them saying he is a thief. He isn't a thief! And the time will come when he will prove it. Promise me, Dad, that when he does prove it, you will make every effort in your power to right the wrong you have done him."
Old John's hand rested for a moment upon the girl's head. "I promise all that, girl. Surely ye know I can be just. If it is as ye say, I'll more than make it up to him. I promise ye, his name shall not suffer."
"I love you, Dad. I know you are just—but you're a hard-hearted old Scot, just the same. You don't make many mistakes, but you have made two—about Oskar, and about hiring that Wentworth. I told you you'd be sorry."
"Well, maybe ye're right," and John McNabb never blinked an eye.
"See, didn't I just say you were hard-headed? You won't admit you made a mistake even after what Orcutt told you to-day. But tell me honestly, Dad, are you ruined?"
"Well, we won't worry about that, lass. D'ye hear the hoot-owl? I like to hear them of nights. I found one's nest once an' I took the three eggs out an' slipped them under a hen that Mother McFarlane had settin'. It was at Long Lake post, Mother McFarlane was the factor's wife, an' I was his clerk. The eggs had been sat on a long time an' they hatched out before the hen eggs. Ye should have seen Mother McFarlane's face when she caught sight of them chickens! It was one of the best jokes I ever made."
"And here you ought to be as solemn as an owl yourself, and you are talking of jokes. I don't understand you at all."
"Maybe I should be an owl. D'ye notice in the stories, they make the
Scots say, 'hoot'? But about Wentworth, now. If we should meet up
with him, don't let on ye know anything about my deal with Orcutt.
Treat him nice an' pleasant——"
"After what he has done to you?" cried the girl, her eyes flashing.