Sanford watched her silently as she drew her cloak about her and turned to the door. The pathos of the shrinking girlish figure overcame him. He began to wonder if there were something under it all that even Captain Joe did not know of. Then he remembered the tones of compassion in Mrs. Leroy’s voice when her heart had gone out to this girl the morning before, as she said, “Poor child, her misery only begins now; it is a poor place for a tired foot.” For an instant he stood irresolute. “Wait,” he said. “Wait a moment.” Betty stood still, without raising her head. Sanford paused in deep thought, with averted eyes. “Betty,” he murmured at last in a softened voice, “you can’t go out like this alone. I’ll take you, child, where you will be safe for the night.” CHAPTER XI CAPTAIN JOE’S TELEGRAM The morning after Betty’s visit to Sanford’s apartments, Captain Joe was seen hurrying up the shore road at Keyport toward his cottage. His eyes shone with excitement, and his breath came in short, quick puffs. He wore his rough working-clothes, and held a yellow envelope in his hand. When he reached the garden gate he swung it open with so mighty a jerk that the sound of the dangling ball and chain thumping against the palings brought Aunty Bell running to the porch. “Sakes alive, Cap’n Joe!” she exclaimed, following him into the kitchen, “whatever’s the matter? Ain’t nobody hurted, is there?” “There will be ef I don’t git to New York purty quick. Mr. Sanford’s got Betty, an’ them Leroy folks is a-keepin’ on her till I git there.” Aunty Bell sank into a chair, her hands twisted in her apron, the tears starting in her eyes. “Who says so?” “Telegram—come in the night,” he answered, almost breathless, throwing the yellow envelope into her lap. “Git me a clean shirt quick as God’ll let ye. I ain’t got but ten minutes to catch that eight-ten train.” “But ye ain’t a-goin’ till ye see Caleb, be ye? He won’t like it, maybe, if”— “Don’t ye stop there talkin’, Aunty Bell. Do as I tell ye,” he said, stripping off his suspenders and tugging at his blue flannel shirt. “I ain’t a-goin’ to stop for nobody nor nothin’. That little gal’s fetched up hard jes’ where I knowed she would, an’ I won’t have a minute’s peace till I git my hands onto her. I ain’t slep’ a night since she left, an’ you know it.” “How do ye know she’ll come with ye?” asked Aunty Bell, as she gave him his shirt. Her hands were trembling. “I ain’t a-worritin’,” he answered, thrusting his head and big chest into the stiff garment; fumbling, as he spoke, with his brown hands, for the buttons. “Gimme that collar.” “Well, I’m kind’er wonderin’ if ye hadn’t better let Caleb know. I don’t know what Caleb’ll say”—