He hesitated. Then he nodded.
"If you wish it--yes," he said. "I suppose it is the thing I ought to do. Dad will be happy, at any rate. Oh, Mary, CAN'T you?"
"No, Crawford, no. Yes, your father will be happy. And--and by and by you will be, too, I know. Are you going?"
"Yes, I think I had better. I don't feel like meeting anyone and your Uncle Shad will be here soon, I suppose. Your man here--
Isaiah--told me of Mr. Hamilton's sickness. I'm sorry."
"Yes, poor Uncle Zoeth! He is gaining a little, however. Crawford, I won't ask you to stay. Perhaps it will be best for both of us if you do not. But won't you write me just once more? Just to tell me that you and your father are reconciled? I should like to know that. And do forgive me--Oh, do! I HAD to say it, Crawford!"
"I forgive you, Mary. Of course you had to say it. . . . But . . .
Well, never mind. Yes, I'll write, of course. I hope . . . No, I can't say that, not now. I'd better go at once, I think, before I . . . Good-by."
He seized her hand, pressed it tightly, took his hat from the table and his bag from the floor and swung out of the door. In the doorway she stood looking after him. At the gate he turned, waved his hand, and hurried on. He did not look back again.
When at half-past six Captain Shadrach, having left Annabel and the boy in charge of the store, came home for supper, Isaiah had some news to tell him. It was surprising news.
"You don't say!" exclaimed the Captain. "Well, well, I want to know! All the way from out West, eh? Sho! Where is he now?"
Isaiah shook his head. "That's the funny part of it, he's gone," he said.
"Gone? Gone where?"
"I don't know. All I know is he come and said he wanted to see Mary-'Gusta--I went up and told her and she come down to see him. I stayed up along of Zoeth until Debby T. came back from her shoppin' cruise. Then I come downstairs again and his hat and bag was gone.
There wan't nobody here."
"Where was Mary-'Gusta? Where is she now?"
"Up in her room, I cal'late. I heard her movin' round there a spell ago."
Shadrach went up the stairs, along the hall, and knocked at Mary's door.
"Who is it?" asked a faint voice within.
"It's your Uncle Shad, Mary-'Gusta. Can I come in?"
"Yes."
He entered. There was no lamp and the room was dark.
"Where are you?" he demanded.
"Here, by the window, Uncle Shad."
She was sitting in the rocker by the window. He could not see her face, but as he bent and kissed her cheek he found it wet.
"Mercy on us! You've been cryin'!" he declared.
"Oh--Oh, no, I haven't! I--"
"Rubbish! Yes, you have, too. Settin' alone up here in the dark and cryin'! Mary-'Gusta Lathrop, come here!"
She had risen from the rocking-chair, but he seized her in his arms, sat down in the chair himself, and lifted her to his knee just as he used to do when she was the little Mary-'Gusta.
"Now there, dearie," he said. "You'll tell your Uncle Shad. What is it?"
"Oh, nothing, Uncle Shad, dear. I was--I'm feeling just a little silly this afternoon, I guess. You mustn't ask me."
"All right, I won't ask--I'll tell. That young feller from out West, the feller with the uncommon name--Brown--Jones--Oh, no, Smith, that was it--he came cruisin' around here and--"
"Uncle Shad, how did you know?"
"A little bird told me. A long-legged bird without much hair on top--a bald-headed eagle, I cal'late he must be. Hops round our kitchen daytimes and roosts in the attic nights."
"Isaiah! Of course he would tell."
"Of course he would--BEIN' Isaiah. Well, this Smith critter, he came and--and--well, I guess you'll have to tell me the rest."
"There isn't much to tell. He came and--and then he went away again."
"Went away--where?"
"Out to Carson City, I suppose."
"Ain't he comin' back any more?"
"No."
"Why? Don't you want him to come, Mary-'Gusta?"
"Oh, Uncle Shad, please don't. I don't feel as if I could answer.
Don't ask me."
"There, there, dearie; don't you answer nothin'. You set still here and be my baby. I ain't had a chance to baby you for a long spell and it seems good."
Silence. Suddenly the Captain felt the head which nestled against his shoulder stir.
"Uncle Shadrach," said Mary-'Gusta, "what do you do when you want to forget?"
"Eh? Want to forget? Oh, I don't know! Cal'late I turn to and sail in and work a little harder, maybe. Why?"
"Oh, nothing. . . But I am much obliged for the suggestion. Now I am going to work. I shall begin tomorrow morning. I wish it was tomorrow right now."
"Don't. Jumpin' fire! Don't wish time away; some of us ain't got too much to spare. But ain't you BEEN workin', for mercy sakes? I should say you had."
Another interval of silence. Then Mary said:
"Uncle Shad, a good while ago, when you asked me about--about him, I promised you I would tell when there was anything to tell. I am going to keep my promise. He came today and asked me--asked me to marry him--not now, of course, but by and by."
Shadrach was not greatly surprised. Nevertheless it was a moment before he spoke. Mary felt his arms tighten about her and she realized a little of the struggle he was making. Yet his tone was brave and cheerful.
"Yes," he said. "Well, I--I kind of cal'lated that would come some day or other. It's all right, Mary'-Gusta. Zoeth and me have talked it over and all we want is to see you happy. If you said yes to him, Zoeth and I'll say 'God bless you' to both of you."
She reached for his hand and lifted it to her lips. "I know you would," she said. "All your lives you have been thinking of others and not of yourselves. But I didn't say yes, Uncle Shad. I am not going to be married now or by and by. I don't want to be. I am the silent partner of Hamilton and Company. I am a business woman and I am going to work--REALLY work--from now on. No, you mustn't ask me any more questions. We'll try to forget it all. Kiss me, Uncle Shad, dear. That's it. Now you go down to supper. I shall stay here; I am not hungry tonight."
