Not that that would be as big a loss as a good paint
brush," he added, reflectively.
His visitor smiled. "I think it would," she said. "Neither Babbie
nor I could afford to lose that head; it and its owner have been
too thoughtful and kind. But tell me, what WERE you thinking about
just then?"
The question appeared to embarrass Mr. Winslow a good deal. He
colored, fidgeted and stammered. "Nothin', nothin' of any
account," he faltered. "My--er--my brain was takin' a walk around
my attic, I cal'late. There's plenty of room up there for a
tramp."
"No, tell me; I want to know." Her expression changed and she
added: "You weren't thinking of--of Charles'--his trouble at
Middleford? You don't still think me wrong in not telling Captain
Hunniwell?"
"Eh? . . . Oh, no, no. I wasn't thinkin' that at all."
"But you don't answer my question. Well, never mind. I am really
almost happy for the first time in ever so long and I mean to
remain so if I can. I am glad I did not tell--glad. And you must
agree with me, Mr. Winslow--Jed, I mean--or I shall not run in so
often to talk in this confidential way."
"Eh? Not run in? Godfreys, Mrs. Ruth, don't talk so! Excuse my
strong language, but you scared me, talkin' about not runnin' in."
"You deserve to be scared, just a little, for criticizing me in
your thoughts.
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