“Well, Mr. Carington he went over yesterday afternoon. I guess he took the short cut or he would have met Mr. Lyndsay coming out. Mr. Carington must be a pretty nice man. There’s not many as young would give up Saturday afternoon fishing, even a bit of it, to go and see about a sick brat. Fishermen’s generally right selfish. He left them twenty dollars. But he had the high-up sense to give it to Susie. He’s a well set-up young man; I saw him poling a pirogue across. It takes a lot of judgment in a man’s legs to handle a dugout.”
“But you do it well, I fancy,” said Anne.
“Yes, but I’m a woman.”
“Good,” said Miss Lyndsay, and went out, leaving the others to talk alone.
Then Dorothy said, “What troubles that woman the most you couldn’t think, not if you lived as long as Noah.”
“And what is it?”
“It’s because there won’t be any tombstone. They’re all buried in the wood back of the cabin. Poor little kittens, just dead drownded in filth. She had better have thought more for them when they were alive.”
“I will speak to Mr. Lyndsay about it.”
“It would be just that much wasted.”
“Money is well wasted sometimes. You might think of the box of ointment, Dorothy.”