"
"Yes," said Dab, "I like it."
"Do you know what a fuss they made over you, when you were gone? I
s'pose they'd nothing else to do."
"Jenny," said Dab suddenly, holding out his hand, "you mustn't quarrel
with me any more. Bill Lee told me about your coming down to the
landing. You may say any thing to me you want to."
Jenny colored, and bit her lip; and she would have given her bonnet to
know if Bill Lee had told Dab how very red her eyes were, as she looked
down the inlet for some sign of "The Swallow." Something had to be said,
however; and she said it almost spitefully.
"I don't care, Dabney Kinzer: it did seem dreadful to think of you three
boys being drowned, and you, too, with your new clothes on.
Good-morning, Dab."
"She's a right good-hearted girl, if she'd only show it," muttered Dab,
as Jenny tripped away; "but she isn't a bit like Annie Foster."
His thoughts must have been on something else than his young-lady
acquaintances, nevertheless; for his next words were, "How I do wish Ham
Morris would come home!"
There was time enough for that, and Ham was hardly likely to be in a
hurry. The days were well employed in his absence; and, as they went by,
the Morris homestead went steadily on looking less and less like its old
self, and more and more like a house made for people to live and be
happy in.
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