N' I've got a mighty good reason f'r askin'."
"You have?" murmured Fanny, flashing a glance of entreaty at her
husband.
"Some of us ladies was talkin' it over," pursued the spinster
relentlessly, "an' I says t' Mis' Deacon Whittle: 'Who counted th'
money 'at was found on Andrew Bolton's body?' I says. 'W'y,' s' she,
'th' ones 'at found him out in th' woods where he got lost, I
s'pose.' But come t' sift it right down t' facts, not one o' them
ladies c'd tell f'r certain who 't was 'at found that body. The' was
such an' excitement 'n' hullaballoo, nobody 'd thought t' ask. It
wa'n't Deacon Whittle; n'r it wa'n't th' party from th' Brookville
House; ner Hank Simonson, ner any o' the boys. _It was Jim Dodge, an'
she was with him!"_
"Well," said Fanny faintly.
She looked up to meet the minister's eyes, with a sense of strong
relief. Wesley was so wise and good. Wesley would know just what to
say to this prying woman.
"What are you and Miss Daggett talking about so earnestly?" asked the
minister.
When informed of the question under discussion, he frowned
thoughtfully.
"My dear Miss Daggett," he said, "if you will fetch me the dinner
bell from Mrs. Whittle's kitchen, I shall be happy to answer your
question and others like it which have reached me from time to time
concerning this unhappy affair."
"Mis' Deacon Whittle's dinner bell?" gasped Lois Daggett. "What's
that got t' do with--"
"Bring it to me, and you'll see," smiled the minister imperturbably.
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