But women don't understand, God bless 'em! What's a drop
in yo' own home? But fo' she started forth Marg spilled every jug onto
the wood pile. When I see the flames extry sparkling I know the reason!"
Greyson chuckled, walking to and fro from table to pantry, with steady,
almost dignified strides.
"That's all right," Truedale hastened to say, "I'm rather inclined to
agree with your daughter; and--" raising the concoction Peter had
evolved--"this tea--"
"Coffee, sir."
"Excuse me! This coffee goes right to the spot."
They ate and grew confidential. Edging close, but keeping under cover,
Truedale gained the confidence of the lonely, broken man and, late in
the evening, the hideous truth, as Truedale was compelled to believe,
was in his keeping.
For an hour Greyson had been nodding and dozing; then, apologetically,
rousing. Truedale once suggested bed, but for some unexplainable reason
Peter shrank from leaving his guest. Then, risking a great deal,
Truedale asked nonchalantly:
"Have you other children besides this daughter who is on her wedding
trip? It's rather hard--leaving you alone to shift for yourself."
Greyson was alert. Not only did he share the mountain dweller's wariness
of question, but he instantly conceived the idea that the stranger had
heard gossip and he was in arms to defend his own. His ancestors, who
long ago had shielded the recreant great-aunt, were no keener than Peter
now was to protect and preserve the honour of the little girl who, by
her recent acts--and Greyson had only Jed's words and the mountain talk
to go by--had aroused in him all that was fine enough to suffer.
Pages:
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160