For a moment I failed to comprehend that he meant Mr. Ewart.
"Tell him what you please."
I set some supper on the kitchen table for him and little Pete, against their return.
Cale reharnessed and brought the wagon to the side door.
We drove those nine miles in silence, except for little Pete who asked several pertinent questions as to the reason of my going. In passing through Richelieu-en-Bas, I looked for the apple-boat. It was still there. Little Pete begged Cale to stop to see it on their way home.
"Not to-night, sonny, it 'll be dark," he said sternly; "we 'll try it another day." I thought the small boy was ready to cry at his friend's abrupt refusal.
Cale left me at the junction, after he had seen me buy a ticket for Spencerville, and the trunk was checked to that place.
He put out his hand. "Marcia, I can't defend myself; all you say is true—but I think you will come to see different, sometime. We 're all human an' liable to make mistakes, big ones, an' I can't see as you 're an exception."
The simple dignity of this speech impressed me even in those circumstances. I put my hand in his.
"'Sometime', Cale? It has always been 'sometime' with me. It is going to be 'never again' now; no more mistakes on my part."