The men had grown impatient and had followed her into the kitchen. They came to the door just as Eliza had finished her inspection. “It has Baltimore on it,” she said. “The number is 4536. It’s very plain.”
“Little good it will do you,” said Sam. “That just shows you that it was checked from there. It doesn’t show who sent it.”
“It may tell us a great deal,” said Eliza. Keeping the check in her hand, she led the way back into the living room. The men followed and seated themselves. She had been wishing that they would go. She wanted to be alone and think of the matter. She could see that Beth was very much excited, although she sat very quiet.
But the fire was too comfortable for Sam to leave. He had taken the most comfortable chair in the room. He put his legs far apart, bent over so that his elbows could rest on his knees, and his chin in turn upon the upturned palm. He began a recital of all the incidents of the day when Old Prince went wild, and he had first found Eliza and the child, and he continued telling how strange it seemed that he should be the one to find the purse.
“But there’ll nothing come of it now,” he concluded. “And to my way of thinking, it’s just as well. The little girl has been well took care of. Her mother’s dead, we know that. We buried her out there in the old Wells’ lot, alongside of your own parents, Eliza. If she had a father, no doubt he’s gone and married again and has other children. It’s just as well not to try to hunt ’em up.”
Eliza thought so, too, for other reasons. She could not give her up. She would be too lonely without her. She simply could not live without her. While these thoughts were in her mind, another slipped in there too. She was not conscious that it was there. “The tramp would leave in the spring.” He had said that weeks before. She never called him that any more, nor had she permitted Beth to do so.
In her own thoughts she had no name for him. He was just “he,” nothing more. She told herself that she would miss his magazines and his help about her flowers. She had kept up with Beth in all her studies. She had read Latin, and worked out Algebra. Now this would be gone. There would be nothing at all left to her, except her stories, which she had still continued, and her club in town. But what would they mean, with Beth and him gone?
While she thought over these matters, Sam Houston kept up his monologue. Now and then Squire Stout flung in a sharp word, but Eliza heard nothing which was being said.
At length the men rose to go. Sam was yet busy narrating the events that led up to the find. The squire led him away. Eliza came to the door with them and held a lamp high in her hand to light the way. She heard Sam talking, as the two men walked on down the slope.
Turning back into the room, she went to where Beth sat huddled up and took a seat close to her.