“Sorry,” said Hunch. “I got to get back.” “Oh, pshaw, Hunch; this ain't right. Wait a minute, anyhow. I guess Mis' Considine would like to see you. She's right upstairs.” “No,” said Hunch, slowly, “she don't want to see me.” Cartier looked at him a little surprised, then suddenly grew embarrassed. “I forgot,” he said; “I clean forgot. No, I don't s'pose she does.” Hunch turned and felt for the doorknob. Mrs. Cartier was coming in from the kitchen, and she hurried forward. “Don't let him go now, Joe. His dinner's all ready.” “That's right,” Joe urged. “You see, you can't go, Hunch.” “I'm sorry,” said Hunch. “Good day.” He hurried out, and left Joe and his wife looking at each other. Hunch had been back in Manistee nearly a week, when one day he received a letter in a perfumed envelope, like the ones Bruce used to get, when they were together on the schooner. He carried it in his pocket all the afternoon, and at night, wondering what she could have to say, and yet not daring to open it and find out, he set it upon his bureau, taking it up every few minutes and turning it over in his hands. In the morning when he awoke and got out of bed to dress, it was there on the bureau staring at him. He held it tip to the light several times, then tore off the end of the envelope and drew out the letter. It was a stiffly worded little note, thanking him for bringing Bruce's things, and was signed, “Yours truly, Mary Considine.” Hunch could not tell why it made him happy. He read it over and over--the first letter she had ever written to him. He stood by the lamp, holding it in his hand. Then, suddenly, he thought of Bruce, and the letter dropped to the table and lay there for a long time untouched, while he dressed with clumsy fingers. But before he went out to work he put it away in his inside pocket. It stayed there for a long time, and sometimes in the evenings, long afterward, he would take it out and read it. CHAPTER XVI--POP-CORN BALLS |HUNCH worked hard during the rest of the winter, so hard that he was startled one day, after two weeks up country in the logging camp, to find that March was only a week away. He had been sent to take charge of the logging gang while the regular foreman was getting back on his legs after an ax cut. When he returned to the mill, and reported at the office, Mr. Jackson waved him to a chair. “Sit down a minute, Badeau. I want to talk to you. How do you like your work, anyhow?” “It's all right, sir.” “How do you get along with the men? Have any trouble?” “Not lately.” “Would you like to go back on the lake?” “Wouldn't mind.” “You've had a good deal of experience, haven't you?” “Guess so.” “What have you done besides running that little schooner you had?” “Well, I was mate two years on one of Peters's coal schooners, and before that I knocked around a good while getting on to the ropes.” “Now, I'll tell you, Badeau, we're going to put on a big schooner this year. She's the _Robert James_.”