Her story was done, and, closing her lips in dogged resolution, she stared inquiringly at the young man. He was not going to withdraw his protection from her, she saw that, but what would he direct her to do next?
He was thoughtfully tapping his pipe against the fireplace, now he was putting it in his pocket, and now he was going to speak.
"'TILDA JANE SAT LIKE A STATUE."
"Little girl, you've started for Australia, and as I don't believe in checking a raring, tearing ambition, I won't try to block you, exactly, but only to sidetrack. You can't go to Australia bang off. It's too far. And you haven't got the funds. Now I'll make a proposition. I've got an old father 'most as cranky as that there dog. I guess if you're so long-suffering with the animal, you'll be long-suffering with the human. He needs some tidy body to keep his house trigged up, and to wait on him, 'cause he's lame. He has an everlasting wrastle to keep a housekeeper on account of this same flash-light temper. But I guess from what I've seen of you, that you could fix him. And you'd have a home which you seem to hanker for. And you could save your money and start for Australia when you've put enough flesh on those bones to keep you from blowing away into the sea and getting lost. Starting would be convenient, for my father lives near the big Canadian railway that is a round the world route. You can step aboard the cars, go to the Pacific, board a steamer, and go on your way to Australia. What do you say—is it a bargain?"
'Tilda Jane sat like a statue. The firelight danced behind her little, grave profile that remained unchanged, save for the big tears rolling slowly and deliberately down each thin cheek and dropping on the faded dress. Only the tears and the frantically clasped hands betrayed emotion.
"I guess it's a go," said the young man, kindly. "Here's my father's address," and getting up he handed a card to her. "Hobart Dillson, Ciscasset, Maine. I've got to make tracks now, but Mrs. Minley here will put you on a train that comes by here in the morning, and all you've got to do is to sit still in it, till you hear the conductor holler Ciscasset. Then you hustle out and ask some one where Hobart Dillson lives. When you get there, don't shake if he throws a crutch at you. Just tell him you've come to stay, and I'm going to pay extra for it. That'll cool him, 'cause he's had to pay a housekeeper out of his own allowance up to this. The old boy and I don't rub along together very sweet, but he knows the size of a dollar every time."