"What is his name?"
"Burroughs, they say."
"Burroughs—Burroughs—he did not come from Salem, did he?"
Winnie, noticing Jim's emotion, turned back to the original theme and continued: "And I suppose Juda was on your mind?"
"Yes, she was, and still I know it is wrong to worry about her, but I shall never cease to love that little angel. You know, I have lots of love letters she wrote me? She used to bring them over into the lot herself and then turn her back while I read them. She said she could not bear to see a man read a love letter. She was like her mother, artful as she could be. She used to enjoy our love spats, as she called them; she would pretend to get mad and go pouting around all day and expect me to come and make up with her, and sometimes it required lots of coaxing, but, of course, she always gave in at last. You see, now she is gone, I cannot help thinking about those things, and that is not all the trouble with me, either."
"That is enough, Jim. You need not tell your other troubles. Come along to the grove, I want to talk with you."
Following the cart path they entered the woods, when she turned quickly and said: "Jim, I have something on my mind which I wish to unload, and you will not think me silly even if I am wrong?"
"No, no," he replied with a searching look. "I like to have you confide in me."
"Do you know, Jim, that I think there is a possible chance yet to find Juda alive."
He sprang to his feet as he exclaimed, "Tell me, Winnie, tell me all you know!"