'Tilda Jane choked back the suffocating lump in her throat, and gravely rose to her feet. "Sir, I'm as much obleeged to you as—"
Here she broke down.
"As you ought to be," he finished. "Don't mention it. I'm happy to make your acquaintance. So long," and he politely held out two fingers.
A vague terror seized the little girl. He had arranged everything for her, and yet she had never since her escape felt so paralysed with fear. Her beseeching eyes sought Mrs. Minley's face. The landlady was smiling graciously at her, but the little girl's heart sunk. Quite unknown to herself, she was a sharp reader of character. She was losing her best friend in the fat young man.
"Take me with you," she gasped, suddenly clinging to his hand.
"Can't do that, sissy. I'm going back into the settlements—bad roads, scattered houses. You'd freeze stiff. Better stay here with Mrs. Minley. I'll run up to Ciscasset by and by to see you."
'Tilda Jane drew back in sudden, steely composure. She was ashamed of herself. "I'm crazy," she said, shortly; "you've done enough for me now. I'll take care of your father if he gets mad fifty times a day."
Already she felt a sense of responsibility. She drew herself up with dignity, and in sad, composed silence watched the young man leave the room and the house. When the last faint sound of his sleigh-bells had died away, she gave up her listening attitude, and turned patiently to Mrs. Minley, who was saying with a yawn, "I guess you'd better go to bed."
'Tilda Jane walked obediently toward her room, and Mrs. Minley, seating herself on a chair in cold curiosity, watched her undress.