one of us," Sandy
declared, "an' bad news for the other. An' whatever the news,--whether
good for me an' bad for you, or good for you an' bad for me,--'tis of
a sort that should keep for a safer time than this. If 'tis good news
for you, you've no right t' risk a foot on the floe this night; if
'tis bad news for you, you might risk what you liked, an' no matter
about it. 'Tis the same with me. Until we knows what's in that
telegram, or until the fall of a better time than this for crossin'
Scalawag Run, we've neither of us no right t' venture a yard from
shore."

"You've the right of it, so far as you goes," Tommy Lark replied; "but
the telegram may contain other news than the news you speaks of."

"No, Tommy."

"She said nothin' t' me about a telegram. She said she'd send a
letter."

"She've telegraphed t' ease her mind."

"Why to her mother?"

"'Tis jus' a maid's way, t' do a thing like that."

"Think so, Sandy? It makes me wonderful nervous. Isn't you wonderful
nervous, Sandy?"

"I am that."

"I'm wonderful curious, too. Isn't you?"

"I is. I'm impatient as well. Isn't you?"

"I'm havin' a tough struggle t' command my patience. What you think
she telegraphed for?"

"Havin' made up her mind, she jus' couldn't wait t' speak it."

"I wonder what----"

"Me too, Sandy. God knows it! Still an' all, impatient as I is, I can
wait for the answer. 'Twould be sin an' folly for a man t' take his
life out on Scalawag Run this night for no better reason than t'
satisfy his curiosity. I'm in favor o' waitin' with patience for a
better time across."

"The maid might be ill," Tommy Lark objected.

"She's not ill. She's jus' positive an' restless. I knows her ways
well enough t' know that much."

"She _might_ be ill."

"True, she might; but she----"

"An' if----"

Sandy Rowl, who had been staring absently up the coast toward the sea,
started and exclaimed.

"Ecod!" said he. "A bank o' fog's comin' round Point-o'-Bay!"

"Man!"

"That ends it."

"'Tis a pity!"

"'Twill be thick as mud on the floe in half an hour. We must lie the
night here."

"I don't know, Sandy."

Sandy laughed.

"Tommy," said he, "'tis a wicked folly t' cling t' your notion any
longer."

"I wants t' know what's in that telegram."

"So does I."

"I'm fair shiverin' with eagerness t' know. Isn't you?"

"I'm none too steady."

"Sandy, I jus' _got_ t' know!"

"Well, then," Sandy Rowl proposed, "we'll go an' bait the te