“She says she is; but we must wait until Mr. Forrest comes before we admit it. So don’t go talking outside.”
“Catch me talkin’,” was Axie’s rejoinder. “It’s a lie. Mars’r Everard hain’t got no wife. I should of knowed it if he had. Don’t you b’lieve it, honey,” and she laid her hard black hand caressingly on the head of the girl whom she had long since singled out as Everard’s future wife, watching shrewdly the growing intimacy between the two young people, and knowing better than they did just when the so-called brother merged into the lover, and she would not for a moment believe in another wife, and a secret one at that. “No, honey,” she continued, “don’t you b’lieve it. Mars’r Everard hain’t got no wife, and never will have, but you.”
“Yes, Aunt Axie,” Rossie said, “this woman tells the truth. She is his wife, and Everard ought to come home. We must telegraph at once. He is in Dighton still.”
Mrs. Markham accordingly wrote on a slip of paper:
“To J. E. Forrest, Dighton:—Come immediately.
“S. Markham.”
And Axie’s granddaughter Lois, who lived in the house, was commissioned to take it to the office. A fire had been kindled by this time in the chamber Josephine was to occupy, and she was there with Agnes, and had rung for warm water, which Lois took up to her before going on her errand. As the child was leaving the room Josephine said to her: “Is there a paper published in town?”
“Yes’m, the Rothsay Star” was the reply.
“When does it come out?” was the next question, and Lois said:
“Saturday,—to-morrow.”