It was quite clear to me that Mr. McLean could not know the news. Meeting
him to-day had been unforeseen--unforeseen and so pleasant that the thing
had never come into my head until just now, after both of us had talked
and dined our fill, and were torpid with satisfaction.

I had found Lin here at Riverside in the morning. At my horse's approach
to the cabin, it was he and not the postmaster who had come precipitately
out of the door.

"I'm turruble pleased to see yu'," he had said, immediately.

"What's happened?" said I, in some concern at his appearance.

And he piteously explained: "Why, I've been here all alone since
yesterday!"

This was indeed all; and my hasty impressions of shooting and a corpse
gave way to mirth over the child and his innocent grievance that he had
blurted out before I could get off my horse.

Since when, I inquired of him, had his own company become such a shock to
him?

"As to that," replied Mr. McLean, a thought ruffled, "when a man expects
lonesomeness he stands it like he stands anything else, of course. But
when he has figured on finding company--say--" he broke off (and
vindictiveness sparkled in his eye)--"when you're lucky enough to catch
yourself alone, why, I suppose yu' just take a chair and chat to yourself
for hours.--You've not seen anything of Tommy?" he pursued with interest.