be a good man. There never was any good
in women trying to think for men, any more than men-folk can think for
women. And there's no use in Murray handing us these things when
Alec's not here."
She started up from her seat. Her mother protested.
"It'll make trouble, Jessie," she said sharply. "The boy's in no mood
for talk--with Murray," she added warningly.
But Murray, himself, became the deciding factor.
"Jessie's right, ma'am," he said quickly.
And in those words he came nearer to the good-will he sought in the
girl than he had ever been before.
"You'll talk to him as you've--said to us?" the mother demanded.
Murray's smile was warmly affirmative.
"I'll do all I know."
Ailsa Mowbray was left without further protest. But she offered no
approval. Just for one second Jessie glanced in her mother's
direction. It was the girl in her seeking its final counsel from the
source towards which it always looked. But as none was forthcoming she
was left to the fact of Murray's acceptance of her challenge.
She turned from the table and passed out of the room.
Ailsa Mowbray raised a pair of handsome, troubled eyes to the factor's
face. Her confidence in this man was second only to the confidence she
had always had in her husband's judgment.
"Do you think it wise?" she demurred.
"It's the only thing, ma'am," Murray replied seriously. "Jessie's dead
right." He held up one fleshy hand and clenched it tightly. "Trouble
needs to be crushed like that--firmly. There's a whole heap of trouble
lying around in this thing. I've got to do the best for the folks
Allan left behind, ma'am, and in this I guess Jessie's shown me the
way. Do you feel you best step around while I talk to Alec? There's
liable to be awkward moments."
The mother understood. She had no desire to pry into the methods of
men in their dealings with each other. She rose from the table and
passed into her kitchen beyond.
CHAPTER XIV
ARRIVALS IN THE NIGHT
Murray McTavish was standing before the glowing wood stove when Alec
entered the room. The factor was gazing down at the iron box of it
with his fat, strong hands outspread to the warmth. He was not cold.
He had no desire for the warmth. He was thinking.
He was not a prepossessing figure. His clothing bulged in almost every
direction. In age this loses its ugliness. In a young man there is no
more painful disadvantage. His dark hair was smoothly brushed,
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