until it came on a level with Jim's eyes. Over it peered Whittle's
little keen ones, spectacled under a gray shag of eyebrows. "Oh it is
you!" said the man with a somewhat contemptuous accent. He held Jim
in slight esteem.

Jim laughed lightly. Unless he cared for people, their opinion of him
always seemed a perfectly negligible matter, and he did not care at
all for Amos Whittle.

Suddenly, to his amazement, Amos took hold of his coat. "Look a'
here, Jim," said he.

"Well?"

"Do you know anything about that strange woman that's boardin' to
Mis' Solomon Black's?"

"How in creation should I know anything about her?"

"Hev you seen her?"

"I saw her at the fair tonight."

"The fair at my house?"

"Don't know of any other fair."

"Well, what do you think of her?"

"Don't think of her."