“Mr. Monk seems uncommon fond of you, he do.”
Matt reflected for a moment, then she replied—
“I wonder what he’s fond o’ me for, William Jones?”
“Well, I dunno—‘cause he is, I suppose,” returned William Jones, having no more logical answer at his command.
“‘Tain’t that,” said Matt; “he don’t love me ’cause I’m me, William Jones. There’s somethin’ else, and I should just like to know what that somethin’ is, I should.”
William Jones looked at her, conscious that there was a new development of sagacity in her character, but was utterly at a loss to understand what that new development meant.
CHAPTER VI.—ALSO CONCLUDES WITH A KISS.
When Matt awoke the next morning, the first thing she did was to look around for her Sunday clothes, which on retiring to rest she had carefully placed beside her bed. They were gone, and in their place lay the habiliments she was accustomed to wear on her erratic pilgrimages every day.