A few more days went by; and then Mrs. Wishart began to mend; so much that she insisted her friends must not shut themselves up with her. "Do go down-stairs and see the people!" she said; "or take your kind aunt, Lois, and show her the wonders of Appledore. Is all the world gone yet?"
"Nobody's gone," said Mrs. Marx; "except one thick man and one thin one; and neither of 'em counts."
"Are the Caruthers here?"
"Every man of 'em."
"There is only one man of them; unless you count Mr. Lenox."
"I don't count him. I count that fair-haired chap. All the rest of 'em are stay in' for him."
"Staying for him!" repeated Mrs. Wishart.
"That's what they say. They seem to take it sort o' hard, that Tom's so fond of Appledore."
Mrs. Wishart was silent a minute, and then she smiled.
"He spends his time trollin' for blue fish," Mrs. Marx went on.