I
know just where they are, for I happened on them on a shelf in
the library only the other day."
After they had found and examined the books and Hannibal had
grudgingly admitted that they might possess certain points of
advantage over the label, he and Betty went out for a walk. It
was now late afternoon and the sun was sinking behind the wall of
the forest that rose along the Arkansas coast. Their steps had
led them to the terrace where they stood looking off into the
west. It was here that Betty had said good-by to Bruce
Carrington--it might have been months ago, and it was only days.
She thought of Charley--Charley, with his youth and hope and high
courage--unwittingly enough she had led him on to his death! A
sob rose in her throat.
Hannibal looked up into her face. The memory of his own loss was
never very long absent from his mind, and Miss Betty had been the
victim of a similarly sinister tragedy. He recalled those first
awful days of loneliness through which he had lived, when there
was no Uncle Bob--soft-voiced, smiling and infinitely
companionable.
"Why, Hannibal, you are crying--what about, dear?" asked Betty
suddenly.
"No, ma'am; I ain't crying," said Hannibal stoutly, but his wet
lashes gave the lie to his words.
"Are you homesick--do you wish to go back to the judge and Mr.
Mahaffy?"
"No, ma'am--it ain't that--I was just thinking--"
"Thinking about what, dear?"
"About my Uncle Bob." The small face was very wistful.
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