My unexpected entrance caused a sensation. Lute, sitting on the edge of one of the kitchen chairs, an agonized expression on his face, started so violently that he almost lost his balance. Dorinda, standing with her back toward me, turned quickly. Captain Jedediah Dean, his hand on the knob of the door opening to the back yard, showed the least evidence of surprise. He did not start, nor did he speak, but looked at me with a countenance as grim and set and immovable as if it had been cast in a mould.
Lute, characteristically enough, uttered the first word.
“By time!” he gasped. “It's Ros himself! Ros—Ros, you know what he says?” He pointed a shaking finger at the captain. “He says you—”
“Keep still!” Dorinda struck her palms together with a slap, as if her husband had been what she often called him, a parrot. Then, without another glance in his direction, she stepped backward and took her stand beside me.
“I'm real glad to see you home safe and sound, Roscoe,” she said, calmly.
“Thank you, Dorinda. Now, Captain Dean, I believe you were sending a message to me just now. I am here and you can deliver it. What is it you have to say?”
Before he could answer Dorinda spoke once more.
“Lute,” she said, “you come along with me into the dinin'-room.”
“But—but, Dorindy, I—”
“You come with me. This ain't any of my business any more, and it never was any of yours. Come! move!”