CHAPTER XXII.
Ham Morris did not linger long at the dinner-table, and Dab would have given more than ever for the privilege of going with him. Not that he felt so very charitable, but that he did not care to prolong his stay at Mrs. Foster's, whether as "cook" or otherwise. He had not lost his appetite, however, and after he had taken care of that, he slipped away "on an errand for his mother," and hurried toward the village. Nearly everybody he met had some question or other to ask him about the wreck, and it was not to have been expected that Jenny Walters would let her old acquaintance pass her without a word or so.
Dab answered as best he could, considering the disturbed state of his mind, but he wound up with:
"Jenny, I wish you'd come over to our house by and by."
"What for?"
"Oh, I've got something to show you. Something you never saw before."
"Do you mean your new baby,—the one you found on the bar?"
"Yes; but that baby, Jenny!"
"What's wonderful about it?"