“You look clean tuckered out,” he announced, baldly; then he laid a coaxing hand on her arm. “I want you to come along with me. Will you, lass? I’ve found a place for you—a nice place. I’ve been talkin’ to Joseph’s mother, an’ she’s goin’ to look after you for the night.”
Patsy’s face crinkled up all over; the tinker could not have told—even if he had been in possession of all his senses—whether she was going to laugh or cry. As it turned out, she did neither; she just sighed, a tired, contented little sigh, slipping off the stool and dropping the letter into the post-box.
When she faced the tinker again her eyes were misty, and for all her courage she could not keep the quivering from her lips. She reached up impulsive, trusting hands to his shoulders: “Lad—lad—how were ye ever guessing that I’d reached the end o’ my wits and was needing some one to think for me? Holy Saint Michael! but won’t I be mortial glad to be feeling a respectable, Lebanon feather-bed under me!”
As the tinker led her out of the store the quorum eyed her silently for a moment. For a brief space there was a scraping of chairs and clearing of throats, indicative of some important comment.
“What sort of a lookin’ gal did that Green County sheriff say he was after?” inquired the storekeeper at last.
“Small, warn’t it?” suggested one of the quorum.
“Yep, guess it was. And what sort o’ clothes did he say she wore?”
“Brown!” chorused the quorum.