“Not exactly. That what I saved wasn't worth it.”
“All right. I'll remember. But what did you save, Ros? Dorindy says 'twas somethin' you found afloat in the bay. If it was somethin' belongin' to them Coltons I'd have took the money, no matter what the thing was wuth. They can afford to pay and, if I was you, I'd take the reward.”
“I have my reward. Now go.”
I had my reward and I believed it worth much more than five dollars. I had learned my lesson. I knew now exactly how I was regarded by the occupants of the big house and by the townspeople as well. I should cherish no more illusions as to my importance in their eyes. I meant to be really independent from that time on. I did not care—really did not care—for anything or anybody outside my immediate household. I was back in the position I had occupied for years, but with one difference: I had an ambition now. It was to make both sides in the Shore Lane controversy realize that George Taylor was right when he said I had the whip-hand. By the Almighty, they should dance when I cracked that whip!
My first opportunity to crack it came a day or two later, when Captain Dean called upon me. He had a definite proposition to make, although his Yankee shrewdness and caution prevented his making it until he had discussed the weather and other unimportant trifles. Then he leaned against the edge of my work-bench—we were in the boathouse—and began to beat up to windward of his proposal.
“Ros,” he said, “you remember I told you you was all right, when I met you at the bank t'other day.”
“I remember,” I answered.
“Yes. Well, I cal'late you know what I meant by that.”
I did not pretend ignorance of his meaning.
“I presume,” I replied, “that you meant I was right in not selling that strip of land to Mr. Colton.”