The drawling voice of the young man who had got the letter at the post-office ceased. The next instant Dorothy heard the cheerful voice of Ned White, her big cousin:
“Hullo, you! Didn’t a pretty girl just go past here—a girl with red in her hat and a tan coat?”
“Don’t know nothin’ erbout no gal,” drawled Poke Daggett.
Now, Poke was naturally a coward. His lantern features likely showed that he was telling a falsehood, too. Bob Niles’ voice interposed:
“You’ve got good eyes, young fellow. You saw Miss Dale all right. Which way did she go?”
“Ain’t seen no gal,” drawled Poke.
Jane Daggett had Dorothy by one arm. Her lean fingers were bruising the tender flesh warningly. On the other side stood the black-haired woman with a piece of plank held threateningly to strike. Dorothy could see nails in that plank—if the woman used it, her face would be lacerated!
“Hul-lo!” exclaimed Ned’s voice, suddenly.
“Handkerchief, by Jove!” cried Bob.
“It’s Dorothy’s, too! This rascal——”