I suppose you'll call it Blue Grassville. But you seem tired!" he said,
suddenly dropping his voice to a tone of half-humorous sympathy.
Mrs. Tucker managed to get rid of an impending tear under the pretense
of clearing her eyes. "Are we nearly there?" she asked.
"Nearly. You know," he added with the same half-mischievous,
half-sympathizing gayety, "it's not exactly a palace you're coming
to. Hardly. It's the old casa that has been deserted for years, but I
thought it better you should go into possession there than take up your
abode at the shanty where your husband's farm-hands are. No one will
know when you take possession of the casa, while the very hour of
your arrival at the shanty would be known; and if they should make any
trouble--"
"If they should make any trouble?" repeated Mrs. Tucker, lifting her
frank, inquiring eyes to Poindexter.
His horse suddenly rearing from an apparently accidental prick of the
spur, it was a minute or two before he was able to explain. "I mean if
this ever comes up as a matter of evidence, you know.
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