You needn't show your face."
Mr. Ransom turned aside. Mr. Harper waited till the slow-moving horse,
dragging a heavily jogging wagon, came alongside, and he had caught the
eye of the low-browed, broad-faced farmer boy who sat on a bag of
potatoes and held the reins.
"Good morning," said he. "Bad news this way. Any better at the Ferry, or
down east, as you call it?"
"Eh?" was the lumbering, half-suspicious answer from the startled boy.
"I've heard naught down yonder, but that a gal threw herself over the
waterfall up here last night. Is that a fact, sir? I'm mighty curus to
know. My mother knew them Hazens; used to wash for 'em years ago. She
told me to bring up these taters and larn all I could about it."
"We don't know much more than that ourselves," was the smooth and
cautious reply. "The lady certainly is missing, and she is supposed to
have drowned herself." Then, as he noted the fellow's eyes resting with
some curiosity on Mr. Ransom's well-clad, gentlemanly figure, added
gravely, and with a slight gesture towards the latter:
"The lady's husband."
The lad's jaw fell and he looked very sheepish.
"Excuse me, misters, I didn't know," he managed to mutter, with a slash
at his horse which was vainly endeavoring to pull the cart from the rut
in which it had stuck. "I guess I'll go along to the hotel.
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