Part 70 (1/2)

”I thought all Carroll's family had went,” said the third man.

”Guess they didn't have enough money to take this one, and you can't beat the Pennsylvania Railroad nohow,” said the fishman.

Charlotte went on to the butcher's, bought and paid for some ham, then to Anderson's for eggs. The old clerk came forward as she entered, and answered her question about the eggs.

”Do you want them charged?” he asked.

”No, I will pay for them,” replied Charlotte, and took her little purse, and just then Anderson, having heard her voice, looked incredulously out of his office, his morning paper in hand. Charlotte laid some money on the counter, and stepped forward at once. She saw with a sort of wonder, and an agitation within herself for which she could not account, that the man was deadly white, that he fairly trembled.

”Good-morning, Mr. Anderson,” she said.

Anderson was a man of self-control, but he gazed down at her fairly speechless. He had been telling himself that she had gone as certainly out of his life as if she were dead, and here she was again.

”I thought,” he stammered, finally.

Charlotte's face of innocent wonder and disturbance flushed. ”No, I did not go, after all,” she said, like a child. ”That is, I started, but I went no farther than Lancaster. They thought I was going--they all did--but I could not leave papa alone, and so I came back.” She was incoherent. Her own confusion deepened. She tried to look into the man's face, but her own eyes fell; her lips quivered. She was almost crying, but she did not know why. She turned to the counter, behind which stood the man with the package of eggs and the change.

”Send that package,” Anderson said, brusquely.

”The wagon has gone.”

”Send it as soon as it comes back. There will be time enough.”

”I can manage if I don't have the eggs until noon,” said Charlotte.

The clerk turned to put away the parcel in readiness for the delivery-wagon, and again Anderson and the girl looked at each other.

Anderson had caught up his hat with his newspaper as he came out of the office, and Charlotte looked at it.

”Were you going out?” she asked, timidly, and yet the question seemed to imply a suggestion. She glanced towards the door.

Anderson muttered something about an errand, and went out with her.

They walked along the street together. Suddenly Charlotte looked up in his face and began confiding in him. She told the whole story.

”You see, I couldn't leave papa,” she concluded.

Anderson looked down at her, and the look was unmistakable. Charlotte blushed and her face quivered.

”Then you are going to stay here all winter?” he said, in a low voice.

”Oh, no, I think not,” she replied. ”I think we shall go away.”

Anderson's face fell. She had spoken very eagerly, almost as if she were anxious to go.

She made it worse. ”I don't think I should have come back if it had not been for that,” she said. ”I did not see what poor papa could do all alone, trying to move. I don't think I should.”

”Yes,” said Anderson, soberly.

”Perhaps I should not have,” said she. She did not look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the frozen ground, but the man's face lighted.

They kept on in a vague sort of fas.h.i.+on and had reached the post-office. They entered, and when Anderson had unlocked his box and taken out his mail, and Charlotte had gotten some letters which looked like bills for her father, he realized the he had no excuse to go any farther with her. He bade her good-morning, therefore.