He turned in at the path to the gate, opened the latter, and reached the porch. He was quite himself when he arrived before her.
“I assure you, Mr. Stagg,” Miss Amanda said hurriedly, “it is no personal matter that causes me to stop you in this fashion.”
“No, ma’am?” responded the man stiffly.
He was looking directly at her now, and it was Miss Amanda who could not bring her gaze to meet his. Her face had first flushed, and now was pale. The long lashes, lowered over her brown eyes, curled against her smooth cheek. Like Carolyn May, Mr. Stagg thought her a very lovely lady, indeed.
“I want you to come in and speak with this sailor who was hurt,” she finally said. “Carolyn May has told you about him, hasn’t she?”
“The whole neighbourhood has been talking about it,” returned Joseph Stagg grimly.
“Yes, I suppose so,” Miss Amanda said hastily. “There is something he can tell you, Mr. Stagg, that I think you should know.”
To say that he was puzzled would be putting it mildly. Mr. Stagg felt as though he were in a dream as he followed Miss Amanda indoors. And he expected an awakening at any moment.
“My father has gone into town, Mr. Stagg,” explained Miss Amanda, leading the way through the hall, or “entry,” into the kitchen.
The cheerful little kitchen, full of light and warmth, was very attractive to Mr. Stagg. He had not been in it for a long time. The big rocking-chair by the window, in which Miss Amanda’s mother had for several years before her death spent her waking hours, was now occupied by the sailor. His head was still swathed in bandages, but his grey eyes were keen, and he nodded briskly to the storekeeper.