But I--I don't want to. Nothin' personal
to you, you understand; but . . . Eh? Who's that?"
A step sounded on the walk outside and voices were heard. Jed
turned to the door.
"Customers, I cal'late," he said. "Make yourselves right to home,
ma'am, you and the little girl. I'll be right back."
He went out through the dining-room into the little hall. Barbara,
in the big rocker, looked up over Petunia's head at her mother.
"Isn't he a funny man, Mamma?" she said.
Mrs. Armstrong nodded. "Yes, he certainly is," she admitted.
"Yes," the child nodded reflectively. "But I don't believe he's
wicked at all. I believe he's real nice, don't you?"
"I'm sure he is, dear."
"Yes. Petunia and I like him. I think he's what you said our
Bridget was, a rough damson."
"Not damson; diamond, dear."
"Oh, yes. It was damson preserve Mrs. Smalley had for supper last
night. I forgot. Petunia told me to say damson; she makes so many
mistakes."
They heard the "rough diamond" returning. He seemed to be in a
hurry. When he re-entered the little sitting-room he looked very
much frightened.
"What is the matter?" demanded Mrs. Armstrong.
Jed gulped.
"They've come back," he whispered. "Godfreys, I forgot 'em, and
they've come back. WHAT'LL I do now?"
"But who--who has come back?"
Mr. Winslow waved both hands.
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