"I guess you didn't," concurred Nicholas. He had gone back to his old
gentleness of voice. "An' 't wouldn't ha' meant nothin' to ye, if ye
had known it. Now, you harken to me! It's my last word. That Flat-Iron
Lot stays under this name so long as I'm above ground. When I'm gone,
you can do as ye like. Now, I don't want to hurry ye, but I'm goin'
down to vote."
Hattie rose, abashed and nearly terrified. "Well!" said she vacantly.
"Well!" Nicholas had taken the broom, under pretext of brushing up the
crumbs, and he seemed literally to be sweeping her away. It was a wind
of destiny; and scudding softly and heavily before it, she disappeared
in the gathering dusk.
"Mary!" she called from the gate, "Mary! Guess you better come along
with me."
Mary did not hear. She was standing by Nicholas, holding the edge of
his sleeve. The unaccustomed action was significant; it bespoke a
passionate loyalty. Her blue eyes were on fire, and two hot tears stood
in them, unstanched. "O gran'ther!" she cried, "don't you let 'em have
it. I wish I was father. I'd see!"
Nicholas Oldfield stood quite still, obedient to that touch upon his
arm.
"It's the name, Mary," said he. "Why, Freeman Henry's a Titcomb! He
can't help that.
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