“Oh, I don't know,” hurried on Cissy, with a vague impression that she had said too much. “Only my fancy, I guess.”
“Well,” said Brother Seabright after a pause; “we'll see what can be done to make a clearing there. Birds sing best in the sunshine, and YOU ought to have some say about it.”
Cissy's dimples and blushes came together this time. “That's our house,” she said suddenly, with a slight accent of relief, pointing to a weather-beaten farmhouse on the edge of the gorge. “I turn off here, but you keep straight on for the Mills; they're back in the woods a piece. But,” she stammered with a sudden sense of shame of forgotten hospitality, “won't you come in and see aunty?”
“No, thank you, not now.” He stopped, turning his gaze from the house to her. “How old is your house? Was it there at the time of the wreck?”
“It's odd that the crew did not come there for help, eh?”
“Maybe they overlooked it in the darkness and the storm,” said Cissy simply. “Good-by, sir.”
The preacher held her hand for an instant in his powerful, but gently graduated grasp. “Good-by until evening service.”
The young girl tripped on towards her house a little agitated and conscious, and yet a little proud as she saw the faces of her aunt, her uncle, her two cousins, and even her discarded escort, Jo Adams, at the windows, watching her.
“So,” said her aunt, as she entered breathlessly, “ye walked home with the preacher! It was a speshal providence and manifestation for ye, Cissy. I hope ye was mannerly and humble--and profited by the words of grace.”
“I don't know,” said Cissy, putting aside her hat and cloak listlessly. “He didn't talk much of anything--but the old wreck of the Tamalpais.”
“The wreck of the Tamalpais, and the boat's crew that came up the gorge,” repeated the young girl.
“And what did HE know about the boat's crew?” said her aunt hurriedly, fixing her black eyes on Cissy.
“What YOU told him!” echoed her aunt, with an ominous color filling the sallow hollows of her cheek.
“Yes! He has been a sailor, you know--and I thought it would interest him; and it did! He thought it strange.”
“Cecilia Jane Appleby,” said her aunt shrilly, “do you mean to say that you threw away your chances of salvation and saving grace just to tell gossiping tales that you knew was lies, and evil report, and false witnesses!”