FullReads

“He is probably guilty,” said the dark man, “but nothing is known of his provocation. The affair may not have been so cold-blooded as the accounts state. Those newspaper fellows never err on the side of undercolouring.”

“I really think,” said Grandma slowly, “that I would like to see a murderer–just one. Whenever I say anything like that, Adelaide–Adelaide is Samuel’s wife–looks at me as if she thought there was something wrong about me. And perhaps there is, but I do, all the same. When I was a little girl, there was a man in our settlement who was suspected of poisoning his wife. She died very suddenly. I used to look at him with such interest. But it wasn’t satisfactory, because you could never be sure whether he was really guilty or not. I never could believe that he was, because he was such a nice man in some ways and so good and kind to children. I don’t believe a man who was bad enough to poison his wife could have any good in him.”

“Perhaps not,” agreed the dark man. He had absent-mindedly folded up Grandma’s old copy of the Argus and put it in his pocket. Grandma did not like to ask him for it, although she would have liked to see if there were any more murder stories in it. Besides, just at that moment the conductor came around for tickets.

Grandma looked in the basket for her handkerchief. It was not there. She looked on the floor and on the seat and under the seat. It was not there. She stood up and shook herself–still no handkerchief.

“Dear, oh dear,” exclaimed Grandma wildly, “I’ve lost my ticket–I always knew I would–I told Cyrus I would! Oh, where can it be?”

The conductor scowled unsympathetically. The dark man got up and helped Grandma search, but no ticket was to be found.

“You’ll have to pay the money then, and something extra,” said the conductor gruffly.

“I can’t–I haven’t a cent of money,” wailed Grandma. “I gave it all to Cyrus because I was afraid my pocket would be picked. Oh, what shall I do?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it all right,” said the dark man. He took out his pocketbook and handed the conductor a bill. That functionary grumblingly made the change and marched onward, while Grandma, pale with excitement and relief, sank back into her seat.

“I can’t tell you how much I am obliged to you, sir,” she said tremulously. “I don’t know what I should have done. Would he have put me off right here in the snow?”

“I hardly think he would have gone to such lengths,” said the dark man with a smile. “But he’s a cranky, disobliging fellow enough–I know him of old. And you must not feel overly grateful to me. I am glad of the opportunity to help you. I had an old grandmother myself once,” he added with a sigh.

“You must give me your name and address, of course,” said Grandma, “and my son–Samuel Sheldon of Midverne–will see that the money is returned to you. Well, this is a lesson to me! I’ll never trust myself on a train again, and all I wish is that I was safely off this one. This fuss has worked my nerves all up again.”

“Don’t worry, Grandma. I’ll see you safely off the train when we get to Green Village.”

“Will you, though? Will you, now?” said Grandma eagerly. “I’ll be real easy in my mind, then,” she added with a returning smile. “I feel as if I could trust you for anything–and I’m a real suspicious person too.”

They had a long talk after that–or, rather, Grandma talked and the dark man listened and smiled. She told him all about William George and Delia and their baby and about Samuel and Adelaide and Cyrus and Louise and the three cats and the parrot. He seemed to enjoy her accounts of them too.