Thankful's face was still pale and she was trembling.
“Nothin', nothin', Cap'n Bangs,” she said. “I've had a—a surprise, that's all.”
“A surprise! Yes, you look as if you had.” Then, noticing the letter in her lap, he added. “You ain't had bad news, have you?”
“No. No, not exactly. It's good news. Yes, in a way it's good news, but—but I didn't expect it and—and it has shook me up a good deal. . . . And—and I don't know what to do. Oh, I don't know WHAT I'd ought to do!”
The distress in her tone was so real that the captain was greatly disturbed. He made a move as if to come to her side and then, hesitating, remained where he was.
“I—I'd like to help you, Thank—er—Mrs. Barnes,” he faltered, earnestly. “I like to fust-rate, if—if I could. Ain't there—is there anything I could do to help? Course you understand I ain't nosin' in on your affairs, but, if you feel like tellin' me, maybe I—Look here, 'tain't nothin' to do with that cussed Holliday Kendrick or his meanness, is it?”
Thankful shook her head. “No,” she said, “it isn't that. I've been expectin' that and I'd have been ready for anything he might do—or try to do. But I wasn't expectin' THIS. How COULD anybody expect it? I thought he was dead. I thought sure he must be dead. Why, it's six year since he—and now he's alive, and he wants—What SHALL I do?”
Captain Obed took a step forward.
“Now, Mrs. Barnes,” he begged, “I wish you would—that is, you know if you feel like it I—well, here I am. Can't I do SOMETHIN'?”
Thankful turned and looked at him. She was torn between an intense desire to make a confidant of someone and her habitual tendency to keep her personal affairs to herself. The desire overcame the habit.