Winslow's confusion.
"Oh, the little girl is only the bait, Father," she declared. "It
is the pretty widow that Jed is fishing for. She'll be calling
here soon, or he'll be calling there. Isn't that true, Jed? Own
up, now. Oh, see him blush, Father! Just see him!"
Jed, of course, denied that he was blushing. His fair tormentor
had no mercy.
"You must be," she insisted. "At any rate your face is very, very
red. I'll leave it to Father. Isn't his face red, Father?"
"Red as a flannel lung-protector," declared Captain Sam, who was
never known to contradict his only daughter, nor, so report
affirmed, deny a request of hers.
"Of course it is," triumphantly. "And it can't be the heat,
because it isn't at all warm here."
Poor Jed, the long-suffering, was goaded into a mild retort.
"There's consider'ble hot air in here some spells," he drawled,
mournfully. Miss Hunniwell went away reaffirming her belief that
Mr. Winslow's friendship for the daughter was merely a strategical
advance with the mother as the ultimate objective.
"You'll see, Father," she prophesied, mischievously. "We shall
hear of his 'keeping company' with Mrs. Armstrong soon. Oh, he
couldn't escape even if he wanted to. These young widows are
perfectly irresistible."
When they were a safe distance from the windmill shop the captain
cautioned his daughter.
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