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The voice choked up and a tear splashed down on the hand clenched on her lap. Mr. Johnston smiled. "Very well. The girl with the handkerchief to her eyes, the one dressed in white and blue, five seats down, will come forward for punishment." "Yep," he replied, "we saw that steer, too. We've been waitin' here, hopin' we'd hear your whistle. I wonder what time it's gettin' to be?".

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Mr Lawrence pursued the same road home by which he had gained Old Harbour. In all probability had Mr Greyquill not looked back, the young gentleman would have found his letter where he had unconsciously dropped it. That side of the bridge—the up-river water path—was much unfrequented, save on a Sunday, when lovers walked along it, and now and again a little family dressed in their best. It was many chances to one that the two or three who had passed along that path since Mr Lawrence and Mr Greyquill had stood in conversation upon it, would have[Pg 146] picked up the letter or even taken notice of it, so very remote from their ideas of things worth stopping for and examining on the highway was a folded sheet of paper. The lieutenant politely nodded his agreement with this view, and finished his glass of brandy and soda-water. At long intervals, to compare the lapses with the short time he spent on board, he directed a look at Lucy; but the glance was that of a man who knows that women do not admire him, and do not want him, a poor, plain, and elderly man: and whose policy, resolved long ago, was to give the marriageable part of the sex a very wide berth. Ringold nodded approval. "All right, Neighbor Watland. Anybody else got anythin' to say?" "'Gimme the money,' says Johnston..