"No," said Seth, very decidedly. "I wish he had staid in Michigan, or gone further west anywhere that Queechy'd never have heard of him."
"Why, what has he done?" said Fleda, looking up, half laughing, and half amazed at her cousin. But his face was disagreeably dark, though she could not make out that the expression was one of displeasure. It did not encourage her to talk.
"Do you know a man in New York by the name of Thorn?" he said, after standing still a minute or two.
"I know two men of that name," said Fleda, colouring and wondering.
"Is either on 'em a friend of your'n?"
"No"
"He aint?" said Mr. Plumfield, giving the forestick on the fire an energetic kick, which Fleda could not help thinking was mentally aimed at the said New Yorker.
"No, certainly, what makes you ask?"
"Oh," said Seth, drily, "folks' tongues will find work to do; I heerd say something like that; I thought you must take to him more than I do."
"Why what do you know of him?"