“Yet his stepmother drove him from his father’s house.”
“She’s a wicked trollop, then!” said Hannah, in a deep, stern voice. “I’d like to get hold of her, I would.”
“What would you do to her?” asked Mr. Jennings, smiling.
“I’d give her a good shaking,” answered Hannah.
“I believe you would, Hannah,” said Mr. Jennings, amused. “On the whole, I think she had better keep out of your clutches. Still, but for her we would never have met with Carl. What is his father’s loss is our gain.”
“What a poor, weak man his father must be,” said Hannah, contemptuously, “to let a woman like her turn him against his own flesh and blood!”
“I agree with you, Hannah. I hope some time he may see his mistake.”
Carl kept on his way to the hotel. It was summer and Mr. Thorndike was sitting on the piazza smoking a cigar. To him Carl delivered the note.
“It’s all right!” he said, rapidly glancing it over. “You may tell Mr. Jennings,” and here he gave an answer to the question asked in the letter.
“Yes, sir, I will remember.”