RS. EVANS, bearing loaves and fishes, and accompanied by Mrs. Thomas, climbed the mountain road to Frances's cabin. Night was just falling, the blackness beginning to be spangled with stars.
"I jus' brought a loaf of salt-risin' bread, Missioner, I baked fresh this afternoon, an' some lemon-jelly cake. Marthy's a-carryin' it. Here, Marthy, put it down on the table."
"It's sure a frosty night," throwing off her cape and hood and accepting the chair Frances offered her, "an' it looks cosey as you please in here. Well, Missioner," with importance, "Marthy an' me took a little time off to bring you the news. Sadie Nitschkan's comin' home to-morrow. Some campers that's just got in brought the word to Jack."
"It's been six weeks an' more since Jack wrote her, commandin' her to come back the minute she got the letter, an' she ain't paid no more attention to it than if he was catnip," announced Mrs. Thomas.
"Well, she's goin' to get her lesson now," Mrs. Evans made the affirmation complacently. "It don't always do to go up against a husband when his blood's up."
"If Jack'll only stay firm." Mrs. Thomas's tone seemed to imply a pessimistic doubt of all men.
"Of course he'll stay firm," the tiny woman threw the Venus Colossal an impatient glance. "He's got the whole of us backin' him, ain't he? 'Course, Missioner," explanatorily, "we ain't really goin' to let him turn Sadie out, like he feels like now; but he's goin' to give her a good scare. She's got to be disciplined."
"Well, I hope she's enjoyed her gipsyin'," Mrs. Thomas spoke piously. "Say, Missioner, ain't it awful the way the Pearl's carryin' on with Bob Flick? Folks is talkin' somethin' fierce. There's goin' to be trouble sure." Her sparkling eyes expressed a relish of the dramatic possibilities in the situation. "Maybe," doubtingly, "Sadie can do somethin' with the Pearl when she comes back; but it's sure that no one else can. Somebody's goin' to tell Shock, sure as you're alive, an' everybody's wondering who it'll be. Most likely one of the boys 'll get drunk an' think it's his duty to speak up. Oh, it's an awful thing!" virtuously. "Bob, he's one of the cold, reckless kind, an' the Pearl, she's one of the hot, reckless kind. Lord!" with a shiver of pleasurable anticipation, "I'm scared."
"Yes, it's sure awful," assented Mrs. Evans absently. "Come, Marthy," rising, "we got to go home an' put the kids to bed. We got a hard day's work before us to-morrow with Sadie, an' we'd better be gettin' a good night's rest."
Frances strolled out onto her little bridge with her departing guests. The night was like black velvet, set thickly with the cold sparkle of stars. It seemed but a moment after her visitors made their last adieux that they were swallowed up in the gloom. Yet a few minutes later she was surprised to hear the patter of Mrs. Evans's feet on the bridge.
"I—I sent Marthy on, Missioner, an' jus' come back for a second." It was the only time Frances had ever seen the assured Mrs. Evans in the least embarrassed. "Missioner," even in' the dim light her cold little face showed agitation. "Missioner, I wasn't goin' to say a word to you, an' I made Marthy promise not to; but there's a good deal of talk—an' the bettin' stands even on you an' the English girl. You know the folks at Garvin's went away to-day; but some of the boys is bettin' that Walt won't let her stay long."
"Betting! On me! And Miss Sourrier?" Frances faltered, throwing back one arm and clutching the rail for support.
For once Mrs. Evans forgot her diplomacy and floundered in the bog of explanation. "Yes, as to which'll get—as to which Walt will—as to which will take Walt."
Frances's eyes blazed. Her mouth set in a bitter smile. It was with evident difficulty that she maintained her self-control; but she made no reply, only stood gazing down into the depths of the noisy, rushing stream.
After a moment of silence, Mrs. Evans stretched out her hand and laid it on the other woman's arm, the first demonstration of affection Frances had ever seen her show to anyone.