“I am not finding fault with you for that,” she said. “Far from it.”
She entered the house, and Tom returned to his mowing in the new clearing. As he took up his scythe he muttered, “I wonder what’s going to happen to me here—and when?”
Gaspard and Mick Otter were late for dinner, but they found Catherine and Tom waiting at the table for them. After hearing all about Ned Tone’s visit, Gaspard used threatening language. Mick Otter plied his knife with a preoccupied air.
“You don’t like him, hey?” he queried, looking at Gaspard.
“No, or never did, durn his hide!” exclaimed the other.
“Guess he feels sore,” said the Maliseet, looking reflectively at Catherine. “You like ’im one time maybe, hey Cathie?”
“Never!” cried the girl. “I never liked him!”
Mick wagged his head and glanced at Tom.
“You best watch out or maybe he shoot you from b’ind a tree one day,” he said.
The hay was all cut and gathered in; the oats and buckwheat were harvested; the potatoes were dug and stored; and still old Mick Otter stuck to the clearings and the hard work, and in all that time nothing more was seen or heard of Ned Tone from Boiling Pot. Gaspard Javet continued to keep his rifle handy, but whether in readiness for a snap at the fiendish visitor or at the heaviest hitter on Indian River the others were not sure.