“Thank you.  It is just this:  I have decided not to tell my brother that I have told you of his—­his trouble, of his having been—­where he has been, or anything about it.  He knows I have not told Captain Hunniwell; I’m sure he will take it for granted that I have told no one.  I think it will be so much easier for the poor boy if he can come here to Orham and think that no one knows.  And no one does know but you.  You understand, don’t you?” she added, earnestly.

He looked a little troubled, but he nodded.

“Yes,” he said, slowly.  “I understand, I cal’late.”

“I’m sure you do.  Of course, if he should ask me point-blank if I had told any one, I should answer truthfully, tell him that I had told you and explain why I did it.  And some day I shall tell him whether he asks or not.  But when he first comes here I want him to be—­to be—­well, as nearly happy as is possible under the circumstances.  I want him to meet the people here without the feeling that they know he has been—­a convict, any of them.  And so, unless he asks, I shall not tell him that even you know; and I am sure you will understand and not—­not—­”

“Not say anything when he’s around that might let the cat out of the bag.  Yes, yes, I see.  Well, I’ll be careful; you can count on me, Mrs. Ruth.”

She looked down into his homely, earnest face.  “I do,” she said, simply, and went out of the room.  For several minutes after she had gone Jed sat there gazing after her.  Then he sighed, picked up his pencil and turned again to the drawing of the gull.

And the following evening young Phillips came.  Jed, looking from his shop window, saw the depot-wagon draw up at the gate.  Barbara was the first to alight.  Philander Hardy came around to the back of the vehicle and would have assisted her, but she jumped down without his assistance.  Then came Ruth and, after her, a slim young fellow carrying a traveling bag.  It was dusk and Jed could not see his face plainly, but he fancied that he noticed a resemblance to his sister in the way he walked and the carriage of his head.  The two went into the little house together and Jed returned to his lonely supper.  He was a trifle blue that evening, although he probably would not have confessed it.  Least of all would he have confessed the reason, which was that he was just a little jealous.  He did not grudge his tenant her happiness in her brother’s return, but he could not help feeling that from that time on she would not be as intimate and confidential with him, Jed Winslow, as she had been.  After this it would be to this brother of hers that she would turn for help and advice.  Well, of course, that was what she should do, what any one of sense would do, but Jed was uncomfortable all the same.  Also, because he was himself, he felt a sense of guilty remorse at being uncomfortable.

The next morning he was presented to the new arrival.  It was Barbara who made the presentation.  She came skipping into the windmill shop leading the young man by the hand.