“SAT DOWN ON A CONVENIENT CHOPPING BLOCK.”
“I’m afraid your pancakes are burning,” said Ben.
The Maliseet ignored this.
“You police?” he asked.
“Not on yer life!” replied Uncle Jim. “I’m Jim McAllister and this is Ben O’Dell and we’re both from O’Dell’s Point down on the main river.”
“Come in,” said Noel, getting quickly to his feet and slipping nimbly through the doorway ahead of them.
He was stooping over the griddle on the rusty little stove when the others entered the cabin. He invited them to share his meal, but they explained that they had already breakfasted. So he broke his fast alone with amazing swiftness while they sat on the edge of his bunk and watched him. A dozen or more pancakes generously doused with molasses and three mugs of boiled tea presented no difficulties to old Noel Sabattis. When the last pancake was gone and the mug was empty for the third time, he relit his rank pipe and returned his attention to the visitors. He regarded them searchingly, first McAllister and then young Ben, for a minute or two in silence.
“Li’l girl git to yer place a’right?” he asked.
“Yes, she made it, and she’s safe and well,” answered Jim.
“Police git Sherwood yet? You see Sherwood, hey?”