Miss Marjorie
sat near them, sewing. Tom would have given everything he possessed for two
minutes alone with her. Why was she befriending him? He asked the question
over and over again.
It was decided that one of Mr. Beecham's servants should go with Tom to the
ferry landing. The servant, carrying a note from Mr. Beecham to the
ferryman, would show him the way, and, more than that, it would be
additional proof to the ferryman that Mr. Beecham was especially desirous
of Tom's being taken across the river. "Then I'll know if old Jones who
runs the ferry does as I tell him to do," explained Mr. Beecham. "They
don't like to cross when the river's high."
Dinner was served, and still Tom had no opportunity to speak with Marjorie
alone. The glances they exchanged were charged with meaning--but it was an
unexplainable meaning. Several times as he pondered over it, Tom lost the
thread of Mr. Beecham's remarks, and had to grope for the right answers.
"Your horse will be ready for you in a few minutes," said Mr. Beecham as
they arose from the table.
"And your clothes are dried and in your room," added his wife.
It was time to be going. He mounted to his room, changed into the rough
suit he had bought in Shelbyville, and forced his feet into his soggy
shoes.
Pages:
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73