“Of course not.”

“Well, Tom come over thet night to see Lucy, hearin’ she was home, an’—­”

“Who is Tom?”

“Thet’s Tom Gates, him thet—­but I’m comin’ to thet, miss.  Tom always loved Lucy, an’ wanted to marry her; but his folks is as poor as we are, so the young ‘uns had to wait.  Tom worked at the mill over t’ Fairview—­the big saw-mill where they make the lumber an’ things.”

“I know.”

“He was the bookkeeper, fer Tom had schoolin’, too; an’ he took private lessons in bookkeepin’ from ol’ Cheeseman.  So he had got hired at the mill, an’ had a likely job, an’ was doin’ well.  An’ when Tom heerd about Lucy’s trouble, an’ thet she had only two days left before goin’ to jail, he up an’ says:  ‘I’ll get the money, Lucy:  don’ you worry a bit.’  ‘Oh, Tom!’ says she, ‘hev you got sixty dollars saved already?’ ’I’ve got it, Lucy,’ says he, ‘an’ I’ll go over tomorrow an’ pay Doc Squiers.  Don’ you worry any more.  Forget all about it.’  Well o’ course, miss, that helped a lot.  Nell an’ Lucy both felt the disgrace of the thing, but it wouldn’t be a public disgrace, like goin’ to jail; so we was all mighty glad Tom had that sixty dollars.”

“It was very fortunate,” said Beth, filling in another pause.

“The nex’ day Tom were as good as his word.  He paid Doc Squiers an’ got a receipt an’ giv it to Lucy.  Then we thought th’ trouble was over, but it had on’y just begun.  Monday mornin’ Tom was arrested over t’ the mill fer passin’ a forged check an’ gettin’ sixty dollars on it.  Lucy was near frantic with grief.  She walked all the way to Fairview, an’ they let her see Tom in the jail.  He tol’ her it was true he forged th’ check, but he did it to save her.  He was a man an’ it wouldn’t hurt fer him to go to jail so much as it would a girl.  He said he was glad he did it, an’ didn’t mind servin’ a sentence in prison.  I think, miss, as Tom meant thet—­ev’ry word uv it.  But Lucy broke down under the thing an’ raved an’ cried, an’ nuther Nell ner I could do anything with her.  She said she’d ruined Tom’s life an’ all thet, an’ she didn’t want to live herself.  Then she took sick, an’ Nell an’ I nursed her as careful as we could.  How’n the wurld she ever got away we can’t make out, nohow.”

“Did she get away?” asked the girl, noting that the old man’s eyes were full of tears and his lips trembling.

“Yes, miss.  She’s bin gone over ten days, now, an’ we don’t even know where to look fer her; our girl—­our poor Lucy.  She ain’t right in her head, ye know, or she’d never a done it.  She’d never a left us like this in th’ world.  ’Taint like our Lucy.”

Kenneth had turned around on his stool and was regarding old Will Rogers earnestly, brush and pallet alike forgotten.  Beth was trying to keep the tears out of her own eyes, for the old man’s voice was even more pathetic than his words.

“Ten days ago!” said Kenneth.  “And she hasn’t been found yet?”