It was the woman who spoke first. It was she who had opened the door. The man was standing behind her looking over her shoulder—over her head really, for he was tall and broad and she short and slender.
“Is it—?” she faltered.
Mr. Keeler answered. “Yes, ma'am,” he declared emphatically, “that's who 'tis. Here we be—er—er—what's-your-name—Edward. Jump right out.”
His passenger alighted from the buggy. The woman bent forward to look at him, her hands clasped.
“It—it's Albert, isn't it?” she asked.
The boy nodded. “Yes,” he said.
The hands unclasped and she held them out toward him. “Oh, Albert,” she cried, “I'm your grandmother. I—”
The man interrupted. “Wait till we get him inside, Olive,” he said. “Come in, son.” Then, addressing the driver, he ordered: “Labe, take the horse and team out to the barn and unharness for me, will you?”
“Ye-es, yes, yes,” replied Mr. Keeler. “Yes indeed, Cap'n. Take her right along—right off. Yes indeedy. Git dap!”
He drove off toward the end of the yard, where a large building, presumably a barn, loomed black against the dark sky. He sang as he drove and the big man on the step looked after him and sniffed suspiciously.