“Oh, I–I–please don’t go to any trouble, I oughtn’t to be here, and please I didn’t mean to swear but–but–Mother would be dreadfully ashamed of me if she knew.”
She was telling the whole truth most unexpectedly to herself. Captain Clarke surveyed her sharply but his voice seemed kind.
“You must be Dr. Morton’s daughter. Did you get lost?”
This was an embarrassing question. Jane looked at him doubtfully before replying. If she said “yes” she would be telling a lie, and if she said “no,” he would know she came on purpose. She compromised.
“I wanted to see your house awfully,” she faltered. “Ernest said it was most like a ship and I’ve never seen a ship,” a sudden remorseful thought crept into her mind. “But you mustn’t blame Mother; she didn’t know I was coming.”
The Captain’s eyes lost their severe look–the suspicion of a twinkle lurked in their blue depths.
“I see, you didn’t wish to embarrass Mother, so you came without leave. I am honored by your visit, Miss—”
53“Jane, but people don’t call me Miss, except Dick Harding, and he does it for a joke. I’m only thirteen.”
The Captain was sliding a stout plank across a narrow part of the stream. This accomplished, he came half way across and held out his hand. “Come, I’ll help you over.”
Chicken Little didn’t in the least need assistance. She was as sure-footed as a young goat, but she was too much overcome by this delicate attention to refuse. Placing her hand gingerly in his, she let him lead her across, then followed meekly up to the low white house. It was a one-story structure, divided in the middle by a roofed gallery. The entire building was surrounded by a broad veranda, open to the sky, and enclosed by a rope railing run through stout oak posts. The Captain gravely assisted her up the steps.