“What's that to you?”
“She ISN'T ill?” Douglas demanded anxiously, oblivious to the gruffness in the big fellow's voice.
“She's all right,” Jim answered shortly as he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, and avoided the pastor's burning gaze.
“And she's happy? she's content?”
“Sure.”
“I'm glad,” said Douglas, dully. He tried to think of some way to prolong their talk. “I've never heard from her, you know.”
“Us folks don't get much time to write.” Jim turned away and began tinkering with one of the wagons.
Douglas had walked up and down in front of the tents again and again, fighting against a desire to do the very thing that he was doing, but to no purpose, and now that he was here, it seemed impossible that he should go away so unsatisfied. He crossed to Jim and came determinedly to the point.
“Can't I see her, Jim?”
“It's agin the rules.” He did not turn.