Barbara danced along the bluff edge, looking down at the dories and
nets on the beach below. Her mother sighed softly.
"It is lovely!" she said. Then, turning to look at the little
house, she added, "And it was your old home, I suppose."
Jed nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he replied. "I was born in that house
and lived there all my life up to five years ago."
"And then you gave it up. Why? . . . Please forgive me. I didn't
mean to be curious."
"Oh, that's all right, ma'am. Nothin' secret about it. My mother
died and I didn't seem to care about livin' there alone, that's
all."
"I see. I understand."
She looked as if she did understand, and Jed, the seldom
understood, experienced an unusual pleasure. The sensation
produced an unusual result.
"It's a kind of cute and old-fashioned house inside," he observed.
"Maybe you'd like to go in and look around; would you?"
She looked very much pleased. "Oh, I should, indeed!" she
exclaimed. "May I?"
Now, the moment after he issued the invitation he was sorry. It
had been quite unpremeditated and had been given he could not have
told why. His visitor had seemed so genuinely interested, and,
above all, had treated him like a rational human being instead of a
freak. Under this unaccustomed treatment Jed Winslow had been
caught off his guard--hypnotized, so to speak.
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