Miss Bessy, being still reminiscent, perhaps, did not notice it.
"If it hadn't been for that ar--I mean that thar--no, that baby--I
wouldn't have known you!" she said dreamily.
"No," returned North, mischievously, "but you still would have
known Hank Fisher."
No woman is perfect. Miss Bessy looked at him with a sudden--her
first and last--flash of coquetry. Then stooped and kissed--the
baby.
James North was a simple gentleman, but not altogether a fool. He
returned the kiss, but not vicariously.
There was a footstep on the porch. These two turned the hues of a
dying dolphin, and then laughed. It was Joe. He held a newspaper
in his hand. "I reckon ye woz right, Mr. North, about my takin'
these yar papers reg'lar. For I allow here's suthin' that may clar
up the mystery o' that baby's parents." With the hesitation of a
slowly grappling intellect, Joe sat down on the table and read from
the San Francisco "Herald" as follows: "'It is now ascertained
beyond doubt that the wreck reported by the Aeolus was the American
brig Pomare bound hence to Tahiti.
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