Peters had transferred his rubbin' from his forehead to his chin.
"Miss Blaisdell," says he, quiet, "why didn't you tell us sooner?"
"That's all right," I cut in, quick. "I don't blame her for not tellin'. I cal'late that she felt so bad about it that she couldn't make up her mind to tell right off. That was it, wa'n't it, Mary?"
She didn't look up, but sat playin' with a pen-holder.
"Yes," she says, "that was it."
"All right then," says I. "It was an accident, and if anybody's to blame it's me. I shouldn't have left the letter there."
Then she looked up. "Of course you're not to blame," she says, awful earnest. "It was my fault entirely. You know it was, Mr. Peters. It was my fault and I must take the consequences. I will resign my place as assistant and—"
"Resign!" I sung out. "Resign! Well, I guess not!"
"But I shall. Of course I shall. Mr. Peters, you see that it wasn't Cap'n Snow's fault, don't you? Don't you?"
"Yes," says Peters, short.