They came in sight of the Smalley front gate and Jed
came out of his walking trance to hear her say:
"Anyway, we like it all but the sal'ratus biscuits and the coffee
and THEY are dreadful. Mamma thinks it's made of chickenry--the
coffee, I mean."
At the gate Jed's "queerness," or shyness, came upon him. The idea
of meeting Mrs. Armstrong or even the members of the Smalley family
he shrank from. Barbara invited him to come in, but he refused
even to accompany her to the door.
"I'll just run along now," he said, hurriedly. "Good night."
The child put out her hand. "Good night," she said. "Thank you
very much for helping me carry the fish home. I'm coming to see
you again some day."
She scampered up the walk. Jed, waiting in the shadow of the lilac
bushes by the fence, saw her rattle the latch of the door, saw the
door open and the child caught up in the arms of a woman, who
cried: "Oh, Babbie, dear, where HAVE you been? Mamma was SO
frightened!"
He smiled over the memory of the little girl's visit more than once
that evening. He was very fond of children and their society did
not embarrass or annoy him as did the company of most grown-ups--
strangers, that is. He remembered portions of Miss Barbara's
conversation and determined to repeat them to Captain Sam
Hunniwell, the next time the latter called.
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