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He might win Ledyard; he could not win the pack! When Mary McAdam knocked on Farwell's door he thought the time had come, but the sight of the distracted mother steadied him. Here was something for him to do, something to carry him away from his lonely forebodings. "Come in, Mrs. McAdam. Rest yourself. You look sorely in need of rest." It was the early evening of a hot day.
The current was set from the Bay, and the stream rose and fell as if it had an ugly secret in its keeping. "Mrs. McAdam," he said suddenly, "I'm going out to to meet the boys!" "God save ye, Mr. Farwell for which?" When Mary fell into that form of speech she was either troubled or infuriated. "I'm restless; I feel like a fling.
They had permitted her to be mocked while she prated of her superiority! It was bitter hard, but Mary McAdam made no feeble cry she prepared for the final act in the little drama. Beyond that she could not, would not look. "Dig me two graves," she commanded Big Hornby; "dig them one on either side of my husband's." "You'll be thinking the bodies will yet be found, poor soul?"
With this Mary McAdam came down to the boat and looked keenly at Farwell. "Are you well?" she asked with a gentleness new and touching. "'Tis pale you look, and thin, I'm thinking. I'm getting to depend upon you, and the thought of anything happening to you grieves the heart of me. In all Kenmore there's no one as I lean on like you.
Come on, you scamps!" to his dogs, "get home and keep house till I come back." His dogs leaped to him and then made for the Green. Without another word Farwell walked to his launch at the foot of the wharf steps and prepared for his trip. A black wave of fear enveloped Mary McAdam.
He broke the seal, and out tumbled the very papers which he had made over to McAdam two days before. "But what am I to do with these now?" he cried in bewilderment. "You will put them in a safe place, or get a friend to do so, and, if you do your duty, you will go to your wife and beg her pardon for having even for an instant thought of leaving her."
The bird just freed from its cage is timid." "Come! A minute will not matter. I must know about my home people." They walked on together. Then, because her heart was beating fast and the tears lying near, she drew close to her deepest interest by a circuitous way. "Tell me of of Mrs. McAdam and Jerry McAlpin?" "Mrs. McAdam is famous and rich. The White Fish Lodge has a waiting list every summer.
Nine o'clock struck; the lights went out in the village, but Farwell rose and trimmed his lamp carefully. Ten o'clock all Kenmore, excepting Mary McAdam, slept. Still Farwell waited while his clock ticked out the palpitating seconds. The moonlight flooded the Green. Where was he, that waiting man who was to come and give the blow?
She noted how white and weary he looked, but the triumphant expression in his sad eyes did not escape her, either. "You have good news?" she asked as soon as Farwell had rested a bit by his fireside. "Yes. And you?" "Oh! I have done famously. Only two knocks at the door, and I was well hidden. Once it was Mrs. McAdam and once old Jerry. They did not try to enter." "They would not.
Mrs. Terhune tactfully turned the conversation: "Have you noticed the change in Jerry-Jo McAlpin?" she asked with a mysterious shake of her head. "Any change for the better would be welcome," Mrs. McAdam retorted. "Have another cup, Jean? Strong or weak?" "Strong. I says often, says I, that unless tea curls your tongue you might just as well take water.
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