Nat strode off to the cemetery gate, where Josiah Badger stood, brandishing a red cotton handkerchief as a not too-clean emblem of mourning. Mr. Badger eagerly sprang forward, but ran into an impossible barrier in the form of the captain's outstretched arm. Josiah protested and the captain replied. Grace leaned forward.
“Auntie,” she whispered, “tell me: Did a letter—Did he—”
“Yes, it came. I gave it to him.”
“Did—did he tell you? Do you know?”
“Yes, I know, deary.”
“Did he—is he—”
“He's well, deary. He'll be all right. I'll look out for him.”
“You will, won't you? You won't let him do anything—”
“Not a thing. Don't worry. We've had a long talk and he's going to stay right here and go on with his work. And nobody else'll ever know, Gracie.”
“How—O Aunt Keziah! how he must despise me.”