"Not a thing. He jes' goes out like he does daytimes, an' comes back the same way."
Josie nodded her tousled red head, as if the answers pleased her.
"He's a very clever man, your grandfather," she remarked. "He can fool not only his neighbors, but his own family. But you've more to tell me, Ingua."
"How d'ye know, Josie?"
"Because all this is just the beginning. It is something else that has been worrying you, dear."
[CHAPTER XI]
THE FATE OF NED JOSELYN
The child stared dreamily at the rushing water for several minutes. Then she looked earnestly into Josie's face. Finally, with a sigh, she said:
"I may as well go on an' finish it, I s'pose."
"To be sure," said Josie. "You haven't told me anything very important yet."
"The important part's comin'," asserted Ingua, her tone gradually assuming its former animation. "'Twas last winter on the Thursday between Christmas an' New Year's. It was cold an' snowin' hard, an' it gits dark early them days. Gran'dad an' me was eat'n' supper by lamplight when there come a knock at the door. I jumped up an' opened it an' there stood Ned Joselyn, in a big heavy coat that was loaded with snow, an' kid gloves on, an' his one-eyed spectacle on his face. He come in an' stood while I shut the door, an' Gran'dad glared at him like he does when the devils gits him, and said: 'What—more?'