“He’s coming home in a day or two,” Norah said; “perhaps to-morrow. I hope they won’t find Harris and bring him to our place.”
“Well, it all depends on where they find him if they do get him,” Blake replied. “Possibly they might find the station a handy place to stop at. However, missy, don’t you worry your head about it—nothing for you to be frightened about.”
“Why, I’m not frightened,” Norah said. “It hasn’t got anything to do with me. Only I don’t want to see a man who could kill his mate, that’s all.”
“He’s much like any other man,” said Blake philosophically. “Say, here’s someone comin’ after you, missy, I think.”
“I thought I’d find you here,” exclaimed Mrs. Brown’s fat, comfortable voice, as its owner puffed her way up the slope leading to the blacksmith’s. “Good afternoon, Mr. Blake. I’ve finished all my shopping, Miss Norah, my dear, and the mail’s in, and here’s a letter for you, as you won’t be sorry to see.”
“From Dad? How lovely!” and Norah, snatching at the grey envelope with its big, black writing, tore it open hastily. At the first few words, she uttered a cry of delight.
“Oh, he’s coming home to-morrow, Brownie—only another day! He says he thinks it’s time he was home, with murderers roaming about the district!” and Norah executed a few steps of a Highland fling, greatly to the edification of the blacksmith.
“Dear sakes alive!” said Mrs. Brown, truculently. “I think there are enough of us at the station to look after you, murderer or no murderer—not as ’ow but that ’Arris must be a nasty creature! Still I’m very glad your Pa’s coming, Miss Norah, because nothing do seem right when he’s away—an’ it’s dull for you, all alone.”
“Master Jim gone back, I s’pose?” queried Blake.
“Yesterday,” Norah added.