“No, indeed!  I don’t want eva to see him again.”

“Well, then, I guess you’ll know how to tell him so.”

The girl went into her own room to write, and when she brought her answer to show it to Mrs. Lander she found her in frowning thought.  “I don’t know but you’ll have to go back and write it all over again, Clementina,” she said, “if you’ve told him not to come.  I’ve been thinkin’, if you don’t want to have anything to do with him, we betta go ouaselves.”

“Yes,” answered Clementina, “that’s what I’ve said.”

“You have?  Well, the witch is in it!  How came you to—­”

“I just wanted to talk with you about it.  But I thought maybe you’d like to go.  Or at least I should.  I should like to go home, Mrs. Landa.”

“Home!” retorted Mrs. Lander.  “The’e’s plenty of places where you can be safe from the fella besides home, though I’ll take you back the’a this minute if you say so.  But you needn’t to feel wo’ked up about it.”

“Oh, I’m not,” said Clementina, but with a gulp which betrayed her nervousness.

“I did think,” Mrs. Lander went on, “that I should go into the Vonndome, for December and January, but just as likely as not he’d come pesterin’ the’a, too, and I wouldn’t go, now, if you was to give me the whole city of Boston.  Why shouldn’t we go to Florid?”

When Mrs. Lander had once imagined the move, the nomadic impulse mounted irresistably in her.  She spoke of hotels in the South, where they could renew the summer, and she mapped out a campaign which she put into instant action so far as to advance upon New York.