“Isn’t that Reuben Camp, now, over there by that house?” she asked, as if we had been talking of him; that is another way some women have.
“Yes, ma’am,” said the driver.
“Oh, well, then!” and “Reuben!” she called to the young man, who was prowling about the door-yard of a sad-colored old farm-house, and peering into a window here and there. “Come here a moment—won’t you, please?”
He lifted his head and looked round, and, when he had located the appeal made to him, he came down the walk to the gate and leaned over it, waiting for further instructions. I saw that it was the young man whom we had noticed with the girl Mrs. Makely called Lizzie on the hotel piazza the night before.
“Do you know whether I should find Lizzie at home this morning?”
“Yes, she’s there with mother,” said the young fellow, with neither liking nor disliking in his tone.
“Oh, I’m so glad!” said the lady. “I didn’t know but she might be at church. What in the world has happened here? Is there anything unusual going on inside?”
“No, I was just looking to see if it was all right. The folks wanted I should come round.”
“Why, where are they?”
“Oh, they’re gone.”