"Drunken fisses is hard to teach. You'll have your hands full, cap'n."
It seemed an unusually long morning, but dinner-time came at last and he hastened across to the farm, eager for the first sight of the sweet shy face hiding in the big sun-bonnet.
Quite contrary to his expectations Nance came hurrying to meet him. She had evidently been on the watch for him. Still more to his surprise, her face, instead of that look of shy reserve which he had been prepared for, was full of anxious questioning. The large dark eyes were full of something he had never seen in them before.
"Why—Nance—dear! What is the matter?" he asked quickly.
"Did you meet Tom again last night? Oh," at nearer sight of his bruised face, "you did, you did!"
"Yes, dear, I did. Or rather he met me—as you see."
"Did you fight with him?" she panted.
"He was too drunk to fight. He ran at me and gave me this, and my first inclination was to give him a sound thrashing. Then I saw it would be no good, in the condition he was in, so I just kept him at arm's length till he tired of it. He went off at last, and I was so afraid he might tumble off the Coupée that I followed him, and he hurled rocks at me whenever he came to a stand. But he got across all right, and I went back and went to bed. Now, what's all the trouble about?"
"He never came home," she jerked, with a catch in her voice which thought only of Tom had never put there.
"Never came home?"