Taylor worked on. "You've been away most all day," she said. He had, he admitted. "Your logs most cut?" They were. "I s'pose you have to go to town a lot, now." Yes, he had been in today.
She talked with the manner of one whose mind is not just on what she says, and her eyes went from time to time to the men's shanty.
"That's one advantage of bein' an ornery man. You c'n pick up an' git out when you will." Taylor remonstrated that men, at times, had obligations. "But when you're free you gen'ally can find some one to bum with—Now a woman, she don't like to go to town alone."
And so on, edging close to the question which was uppermost in her mind, inspecting Taylor's work with an interest that was obviously assumed. John, watching, finally said:
"We were lucky today. Caught the down freight and got a ride back to Seven Mile with Dr. Pelly."
"Oh, so you didn't go alone?"
"No, Joe and I went in."
"An' three of you rode in that one-seated car of the doctor's?"
"Plenty of room. Yes we all came back—"
Forthwith, she departed for the kitchen with the alacrity of relief and Taylor chuckled. He heard her singing a doleful hymn in a terrible contralto.
Both funny and heartbreaking, it was, as Helen had said. Sour Aunty May, crusty Black Joe; they would not speak, but the first thought of each was for the other's welfare.
Humphrey Bryant came back with Helen that night and John joined them and listened to the old editor's
