Let's see when he wrote it. . . . Eh? Why, 'twas written two months ago!
Where in the world has it been all this time?"
"I don't know. I can't think. And he says he is in San Francisco, and
the postmark on that envelope is Omaha, Nebraska."
"Land of love, so 'tis. And the postmark date is only four days back.
Why did he hang on to the thing for two months afore he mailed it? And
how did it get to Omaha?"
"I don't know. All I can think of is that he gave the letter to somebody
else to mail and that somebody forgot it. That's all I can think of. I
can't really think of anything after a shock like this. Oh, dear! Oh,
dear! The poor, helpless, incompetent thing! He's probably starved to
death by this time and it's all my fault. I NEVER should have let him
go. What SHALL I do? Wasn't there enough without this?"
For the first time Thankful's troubles overcame her courage and
self-restraint. She put her handkerchief to her eyes.
The captain was greatly upset. He jammed his hands into his pockets,
took them out again, reached for his own handkerchief, blew his nose
violently, and began pacing up and down the room. Suddenly he seemed to
have made up his mind.
"Mrs. Barnes," he said, "I--I--"
Thankful's face was still buried in her handkerchief.
"I--I--" continued Captain Obed. "Now, now, don't do that. Don't DO it!"
Mrs. Barnes wiped her eyes.
"I won't," she said, stoutly. "I won't. I know I'm silly and childish."
"You ain't neither.
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