“Just a little while ago. Just after you said how brave Mr. Sherwood was—from that on. You looked sort of dazed and moonstruck.”
“Moonstruck, hey? Well, I’ll tell you, Ben, seeing as it’s you. That little girl took a-holt of my hand when I said that about her pa. And she kept right on a-holding of it.”
“Girls must be queer. I knew something was wrong, you looked so foolish. But if her father was such a fine man as you tried to make out at breakfast, what’s the matter with him? You told me that the woods had been too much for his gentility, Uncle Jim.”
“Sure it was—the woods or something; but he was smart and brave all the same when I knew him. I wasn’t lying; but I’ll admit I was telling all the good of him I could think up, so’s to hearten the poor little girl. It worked, too.”
“Do you know why he left French River? And why did he leave her to come all that way alone?”
“I’ll ask Flora, first chance I get. I’m just as curious as yerself, Ben.”
They were halfway to the potatoes with their earthy hoes on their shoulders when Ben halted suddenly and faced his uncle with an abashed grin.
“I forgot to tend the net,” he said. “It may be full of salmon for all I know—and all the salmon full of eels by this time.”
McAllister’s long, lean frame jerked with laughter.
“That suits me fine, Ben,” he exclaimed as soon as he could speak. “We’ll go tend it now. I’d sooner be on the river this fine morning than hilling potatoes, anyhow; and maybe we’ll find another grilse from French River.”