“Because—­well, because I—­I can’t.  There, there, Obed!  Please don’t ask me again.  Please don’t!”

Captain Obed did not ask.  He did not speak again for what, to Mrs. Barnes, seemed a long, long time.  At length she could bear it no longer.

“Please, Obed,” she begged.

The captain slowly shook his head.  Then he laughed a short, mirthless laugh.

“What an old fool I am!” he muttered.  “What an old fool!”

“Obed, don’t talk so!  Don’t!  Do you want to make this—­everything—­harder for me?”

He straightened and squared his shoulders.

“Thank you, Thankful,” he said, earnestly.  “Thank you for sayin’ that.  That’s the way to talk to me.  I know I’m an old fool, but I won’t be any more, if I can help it.  Make it harder for you?  I guess not!”

“Obed, I’m so sorry.”

“Sho! sho!  You needn’t be. . . .  I’m all right.  I’ve been dreamin’ foolish dreams, like a young feller after a church picnic dinner, but I’m awake now.  Yes’m, I’m awake.  Now just you forget that I talked in my sleep.  Forget the whole of it and let’s get back to—­to that brother of yours.  We’ve got to locate him, that’s the first thing to be done.  I’ll send a telegram right off to that Kelly man out in ‘Frisco askin’ if what’s-his-name—­Jedediah—­is there yet.”

“Obed, you won’t—­you won’t feel hard towards me?  You won’t let—­this—­interfere with our friendship?”

“Sho!  Hush, hush, Thankful!  You make me more ashamed of myself than ever, and that ain’t necessary.  Now the first thing is to send that telegram.  If we locate your brother then we’ll send him a ticket to Boston and some money.  Don’t you worry, Thankful; we’ll get him here.  And don’t you fret about the money neither.  I’ll ’tend to that and you can pay me afterwards.”

“No, no; of course I shan’t let—­”

“Yes, you will.  There’s some things you can’t stop and that’s one of ’em.  You talked about our friendship, didn’t you?  Well, unless you want me to believe I ain’t your friend, you’ll let me run my own course this time.  So long, Thankful; I’m off to Chris Badger’s to send that telegram.”

He snatched up his cap and was on his way to the door.  She followed him.

“Obed,” she faltered, “I—­I—­What can I say to you?  You are so good!”

“Tut! tut!  Me good?  Don’t let Heman Daniels hear you say that.  He’s a church deacon and knows what goodness is.  So long, Thankful.  Soon’s I hear from Kelly, I’ll report.”

He hurried from the house.  Thankful watched him striding down the path.  Not once did he hesitate or look back.  She turned from the door and, returning to her chair by the center table, sat down.  For a moment she sat there and then, leaning her head upon her arms on the table, wept tears of absolute loneliness and despair.