"
He put on his cap, noticed that it seemed to feel different,
pulled it off again, and then looked at me in a quaint
embarrassment.
"You are very good, Miss McGill," he said.
"Where did Andrew go?" I asked.
"He set off for Shelby on foot," Mifflin answered. "He has a
grand stride for walking. He suddenly remembered that he had
left some potatoes boiling on the fire yesterday afternoon,
and said he must get back to attend to them. He said he hoped
you would send him a postal card now and then. Do you know,
he reminds me of Thoreau more than ever."
"He reminds me of a burnt cooking pot," I said. "I suppose
all my kitchenware will be in a horrible state when I get home."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Port Vigor is a fascinating old town. It is built on a point
jutting out into the Sound. Dimly in the distance one can see
the end of Long Island, which Mifflin viewed with sparkling
eyes. It seemed to bring him closer to Brooklyn. Several
schooners were beating along the estuary in the fresh wind,
and there was a delicious tang of brine in the air. We drove
direct to the station where the Professor alighted. We took
his portmanteau, and shut Bock inside the van to prevent the
dog from following him.
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