When the knee slid down to its normal
position once more his mind was made up. Mrs. Armstrong might
remain in the little house--for a few months more, at any rate.
Even if she insisted upon a year's lease it wouldn't do any great
harm. He would wait until she spoke to him about it and then he
would give his consent. And--and it would please Captain Sam, at
any rate.
He rose and, going to the window, looked out once more across the
yard. What he saw astonished him. The back door of the house was
partially open and a man was just coming out. The man, in dripping
oil-skins and a sou'wester, was Philander Hardy, the local
expressman. Philander turned and spoke to some one in the house
behind him. Jed opened the shop door a crack and listened.
"Yes, ma'am," he heard Hardy say. "I'll be back for 'em about four
o'clock this afternoon. Rain may let up a little mite by that
time, and anyhow, I'll have the covered wagon. Your trunks won't
get wet, ma'am; I'll see to that."
A minute later Jed, an old sweater thrown over his head and
shoulders, darted out of the front door of his shop. The express
wagon with Hardy on the driver's seat was just moving off. Jed
called after it.
"Hi, Philander!" he called, raising his voice only a little, for
fear of being overheard at the Armstrong house. "Hi, Philander,
come here a minute.
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