Foster Townsend grunted, but made no comment.
“I presume likely you and she think it’s kind of funny I ain’t been up to see her yet, Cap’n” continued Clark. “Well, I’ve meant to, but I’ve been so busy at the post office I ain’t had time to go anywheres. I’m comin’ pretty soon, though, you can bet on that. I’ll—I’ll be up to-morrow—yes, sir, to-morrow.”
Townsend lifted the reins. “Anything else?” he asked, impatiently.
“No, I don’t know as there is—nothin’ special. Oh, yes, while I think of it,” lowering his voice, “I’m collectin’ a good-sized bunch to go to the rally and holler for the cranberry bill. I’ll have ’em there. You can count on me for that, Cap’n Foster.”
“Get up!” commanded Townsend, addressing the horses.
“I’ll be over to-morrow,” Millard shouted after them. Then he returned, swollen with importance, to the much-impressed group by the pillars.
Townsend frowned. “Jackass!” he snorted. Then, after a moment, he added. “That fellow is likely to be a nuisance, I’m afraid. I won’t have him hanging around the place. I don’t want him there. If he comes to-morrow you tell Nabby or Ellen you can’t see him.”
Esther looked at him. She had never cherished deep affection for, nor a high opinion of, her Uncle Millard, but the sight of him had been a sharp reminder of the home she had just left and all its associations. And the contempt in the captain’s tone stung.
“I want to see him,” she declared. “Yes, I do.”
“What! You want to see—him! For heaven’s sake, why?”