SON OF THE WIND
than an interest in the occupation of sweeping leaves seemed to warrant.
"I think the people are down-stairs by this time," Carron observed, offering the only piece of information he could imagine Ferrier's wanting of him.
"Are they?" the voice coming suddenly, sounded harsh. Carron looked up, observed him for the first time clearly, saw the man planted there irresolutely. He wore bravado like a cloak of gossamer. Agitation was apparent beneath it. "I didn't think they'd be up just yet. Old man Rader said you always were up first. I thought—" He seemed to decide that this was not the way to begin it. "I've something to say to you," he started again with a louder and more determined voice. "Would you mind walking down the road a little way?"
Carron let his rake rest in a surprised hand. The voice, the face, the request were curiously out of tune with the hour. "Why not talk here?"
"I'd rather not. Besides," he gave it with quite an air, "it is to your advantage."
"Indeed? Then we will stay here, if you don't mind."
Ferrier narrowed his lips. He glanced at the hotel. All that was visible was the blank side of the greater house, with every shade drawn. "Doesn't make any difference to me," he remarked, throwing
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