"
"Obed, you won't--you won't feel hard towards me? You won't
let--this--interfere with our friendship?"
"Sho! Hush, hush, Thankful! You make me more ashamed of myself than
ever, and that ain't necessary. Now the first thing is to send that
telegram. If we locate your brother then we'll send him a ticket to
Boston and some money. Don't you worry, Thankful; we'll get him here.
And don't you fret about the money neither. I'll 'tend to that and you
can pay me afterwards."
"No, no; of course I shan't let--"
"Yes, you will. There's some things you can't stop and that's one of
'em. You talked about our friendship, didn't you? Well, unless you want
me to believe I ain't your friend, you'll let me run my own course
this time. So long, Thankful; I'm off to Chris Badger's to send that
telegram."
He snatched up his cap and was on his way to the door. She followed him.
"Obed," she faltered, "I--I--What CAN I say to you? You are SO good!"
"Tut! tut! Me good? Don't let Heman Daniels hear you say that. He's a
church deacon and knows what goodness is. So long, Thankful. Soon's I
hear from Kelly, I'll report."
He hurried from the house. Thankful watched him striding down the path.
Not once did he hesitate or look back. She turned from the door and,
returning to her chair by the center table, sat down. For a moment she
sat there and then, leaning her head upon her arms on the table, wept
tears of absolute loneliness and despair.
The telegram to Michael Kelly of San Francisco brought an answer, but
a most unsatisfactory one.
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