The City of Fire - Page 125/221

"Oh, I'm so glad!" sighed Mary Rafferty sinking into a chair, "Jim

thinks the sun rises and sets in Mark Carter. They were kids together

you know. He says people don't know Mark. And he said if they turned

Mark down at the church now, if they didn't stand by him in his

trouble, he had no more use for their religion!"

"Don't you believe it, Mary Rafferty! Jim Rafferty loves the very

ground the meenister walks on!"

"What was that?" exclaimed Jane Duncannon running to the side window.

"A strange car! Mary, come here! Is that the Chief of Police from

Economy?"

Mary darted to the window followed by the elder woman: "Yes, it is!" she exclaimed drawing back aghast, "You don't

suppose he's going to Carter's? He wouldn't do that would he?"

"He huz to do his dooty, doesn't he?" mused Christie, "But thot's not

sayin' he loikes it, child!"

"Well, he might find a way not to frighten his mother--!"

Mrs. Duncannon stretched her neck to see if he was really stopping at

the parsonage, and Christie murmured: "Perhaps he will."

The little group lingered a moment, till Mary bethought her of her pies

in the oven and the three drifted thriftily back to their morning

tasks, albeit with mind and heart down in the village.

Presently on the glad morning air sounded again the chug chug of the

motor, bringing them sharply back to their windows. Yes, there was the

Chief's car again. And Mark Carter with white haggard face sat in the

back seat! Apprehension flew to the soul of each loyal woman.

But before the sound of the Chief's motor bearing Mark Carter

Economyward had passed out of hearing, Jane Duncannon in a neat brown

dress with a little round brown ribboned hat set trimly on her rippley

hair, and a little round basket on her arm covered daintily with a

white napkin, was nipping out her tidy front gate between the

sunflowers and asters and tripping down Maple street as if it had been

on her mind to go ever since Saturday night.

Even before Mary Rafferty had turned from her Nottingham laced parlor

window and gone with swift steps to her kitchen door Christie McMertrie

stood on her back step with her sunbonnet on and a glass of jelly

wrapped in tissue paper in her hand: "She's glimpsed 'em," she whispered briefly, with a nod toward the

holland shades, "an' she's up in her side bedroom puttin' on her Sunday

bunnit. She'll be oot the door in another two meenits, the little black

crow! If we bide in the fields we can mak Carters' back stoop afore she

gets much past the tchurch!"