 CHAPTER XII. THEORIES ARE DANGEROUS. What were you and Inge talking about for so long? asked Mary Louise when she and Josie were alone. She was telling me her story, was the reply. All of it? Every bit of it, I think. Oh, what was it all about? questioned Mary Louise eagerly. I promise not to tell. Not even me, Josie? Not even you. Inge insisted, and really, dear, it's better you should know nothing just at present. Am I to be left out of all this thrilling mystery? demanded Mary Louise, with an aggrieved air. There won't be a thrill in it until the end, and perhaps not then. But you shall come in at the finish, if not before. I'll promise that. Won't this enforced promise to Inge tie your hands? queried the other girl thoughtfully. No. I didn't promise not to act, but only to keep the child's secret. For Inge's sake, as well as to satisfy your curiosity in my own, I'm going to delve to the bottom of Ned Jocelyn's disappearance. That will involve the attempt to discover all about old Swallowtail, who is a mystery all by himself. I shall call on you to help me at times, Mary Louise, but you're not to be told what is weighing so heavily on poor Inge's mind. Well, said Mary Louise, if I may help, that will serve to relieve my disappointment to an extent. But I'm surprised at Inge, I thought she loved and trusted me. So she does, asserted Josie. Since I've heard the story, I'm not surprised at Inge at all. If you knew all, my dear, you would realize why she believes that one confidant is enough. Indeed, I'm rather surprised that Inge ventured to confide in me. Is it so serious, then? If her fears are justified, replied Josie gravely, it is very serious. But are they justified? urged Mary Louise. Inge was a child, and very sensitive to impressions. But she is a shrewd child, and living a lonely life, she is at ample time to consider the problems that confront her. Whether she is right or wrong in her conjectures, time will determine. But don't question me further, please, or you will embarrass me. Tomorrow I want to go to the city, which is the county seat. Will you go with me? And can we get Uncle Evan to drive us over in the car? I'll ask Grandpa Jim. Uncle Hathaway was rather amused at the efforts of the two girls to fathom the mystery of old swallow-tail, but he was willing to assist in any practical way. So Uncle Evan drove them to the county seat next day, and Josie spent several hours in the county clerk's office, and paid a visit to the chief police, who knew her father, John O'Gorman, by reputation. Mary Louise shopped leisurely while her friend was busy with her investigations, and at last they started for home, where they arrived in time for dinner. On the way, Mary Louise inquired if Josie had secured any information of importance. "'A little,' said the girl detective. For one thing, old Hezekiah Craig pays taxes on just one bit of land besides that little homestead of his. It is a five-acre tract, but the assessment puts it at an astonishingly low value, scarcely ten percent of the value of all surrounding property. That strikes me as queer. I've got the plight of it, and to-morrow we will look it up.' They found it was not easy to locate that five acres, even with a map, when the two girls had made the attempt the next forenoon. But finally, at the end of a lonely lane about a mile and a half from the village, they came upon a stony tract hemmed in by low hills, which seemed to fit the location described. The place was one mass of tumbled rocks. Little herbie-age of any sort grew there, and its low assessment value was easily explained. The surrounding farms, all highly cultivated, backed up to the little waste valley, which was fenced out, or rather in, by the owners of the fertile lands. One faintly trodden path led from the bars of the lane the girls were in toward Mr. Craig's five acres of stones, but amid the jumble of rocks it would be difficult to walk at all. "'This is an odd freak of nature,' remarked Josie, gazing at the waste with a puzzled expression. It is easy to understand why Mr. Craig hasn't sold this lot, as he did all his other land. No one would buy it.' "'Haven't the stones of value for building or something?' asked Mary Louise. "'Not in this location, so far from a railway. In my judgment the tract is absolutely worthless. I wonder that so economical a man as Mr. Craig pays taxes on it.' They went no farther than the edge of the rock-strain field, for there was nothing more to see. Up the slope of the hill, on the far side from where they stood, were jumbled masses of huge slabs and boulders that might be picturesque, but were not especially interesting. The girls turned and retraced their steps to the neglected lane, and from thence reached the main road again. "'I have now satisfied myself on two counts,' was Josie's comment. First, that Mr. Craig owns no property but this stone-yard in his little home, and second, that within the last forty years he has at different times disposed of seventy thousand dollars' worth of land left him by his father. The county records prove that. The last sale was made about four years ago, and so he has consistently turned all his real estate into ready money. "'What can he have done with so much money?' exclaimed Mary Louise. "'Ah! That is part of the mystery, my dear. If he still has it, then the man is a miser. If he has lost it, he is a gambler which is just about as bad. Anyway, Hezekiah Craig is not entitled to our admiration to say the least. Let us admit that in a big city a man might lose seventy thousand dollars in business ventures without exciting adverse criticism except for a lack of judgment, but Old Swallowtail has never left Craig's crossing, according to all reports, and I'm sure there is no way for him to squander a fortune here. "'I think he must be a miser,' said Mary Louise with conviction. Ingoe once told me of seeing lots of money pass between him and Mr. Cullen. "'And tell me, Josie, what is all his voluminous correspondence about?' "'I'm going to investigate that presently,' replied her friend. "'It isn't quite in line yet, but will come pretty soon. Tomorrow I shall call upon Old Swallowtail at his office.' "'Shall you really? And may I go with you, Josie? Not this time. You'll spoil my excuse, you see, for you are going to discharge your sewing-girl, and your sewing-girl is going to apply to Hezekiah Craig for work. His granddaughter needs some sewing done by the looks of her wardrobe. "'Oh, very well. But will you tell me what happens?' "'Of course.' "'Once,' said Mary Louise, I proposed going myself to Mr. Craig to intercede for Ingoe, but the girl thought I would do more harm than good, so I abandoned the idea. I think that was wise. I don't expect to get much out of the man except in an interview, with a chance to seddie him at close range. Also I'm anxious to see what that mysterious office looks like.' Mary Louise regarded her friend admiringly. "'You're very brave, Josie,' she said. "'Poo! There's no danger. One of the first things Father taught me about the detective business was that all men belong to one tribe, and the criminal is inevitably a coward at heart. Old Swallowtail may be afraid of me before I'm through with this case, but whether he proves guilty or innocent, I shall never fear him a particle.' "'Have you any theory as yet, Josie?' "'No. Theories are dangerous things, and never should be indulged in until backed by facts.' "'But do not theories often lead to facts? And how about those O'Gorman theories you mentioned which you were eager to test?' "'Those are mere theories of investigation—methods to be pursued in certain situations. I believe I shall be able to test some of them in this case. My plan is to find out all I can about every one and everything, and then marshal my facts against the question involved. If there is no answer, I've got to learn more. If I can't learn more, then the whole thing becomes mere guesswork, in other words, theory, more likely to be wrong than right.' Mary Louise seldom argued with Josie's decisions. When the next morning her friends started for the village to call upon Old Swallowtail, she pressed her hand and wished her good luck. Josie departed in her plain gingham dress, shoes run over at the heels, hair untidy and uncovered by Hatter Hood, a general aspect of slovenly servitude. Mr. Craig was never an early riser. He breakfasted at eight o'clock, and half-past eight stalked with stiff dignity to town, and entered his office without dainting to recognize any villagers he might meet. Josie was aware of this habit. She timed her visit for half-past ten. Unnoticed she passed through the village street and crept up the stairs at the end of the store building. Before the door marked H. Craig real estate, she paused to listen. No sound came from within, but farther along the passage she heard the dull rumble of Miss Huckins' sewing machine. For once Josie hesitated, but realizing that hesitation meant weakness on such an errand, she boldly thrust out a hand and attempted to turn the doorknob. CHAPTER XIII of Mary Louise and the Country by L. Frank Baum CHAPTER XIII Bluff and Rebuff The door was locked. Immediately Josie pounded upon it with her knuckles, and a voice demanded, Who is there? Instead of replying Josie knocked again, and suddenly the door was opened and old swallow-tail stood before her. I beg your pardon, she said definitively. Are you the real estate man? Yes, he replied, standing quietly in the doorway. Then you're the man I want to see, she asserted, and took a step forward. But he did not move an inch from his position, and his eyes were fixed steadfastly on her face. I have nothing to sell at present, he remarked. But I want to give you something to sell, she retorted impatiently, summoning her wits to meet the occasion. Let me in, please, or do you transact all your business in the hallway? Somewhat to her surprise, he stepped back and held the door for her to enter. She promptly walked in and sat down near a round table, one comprehensive glance fixing in her mind the entire contents of the small room. There was one window, dim and unwashed, facing the street. It had a thick shade, now raised. Originally the room had been square and rather crudely plastered in wallpapered, but a wooden partition had afterward been erected to cut the room into two, so that the portion she had entered was long and narrow. The sole furniture consisted of the round table, quite bare, two or three wooden bottom chairs, and, against one wall, a rack filled with books. During the interview she noted that these books were mostly directories of the inhabitants of various prominent cities in the United States, and such a collection astonished her and aroused her curiosity. Just at present, however, the partition proved the most interesting things she observed, for beyond it must be another room which was doubtless the particular sanctum of old swallow-tail, and to which she scarcely expected to gain admittance. The door was closed. It was stout and solid, and was fitted with both an ordinary door lock and a haspen padlock, the latter now hanging on a nail beside the door. This much Josie's sharp eyes saw in her first glance, but immediately her attention was demanded by Mr. Craig, who took a seat opposite her and said in a quiet, well-modulated voice, Now, my girl, state your business. She had planned to tell him how she had come to town to sow for Mary Louise Burroughs, how she had finished her work but was so charmed with Craig's crossing that she did not care to leave it during the hot weather to return to the stuffy city. Therefore she intended to add, if he would let her make some new dresses for Ingoa, she would work for half her regular wages. Her dress as a sowing-girl would carry out this deception, and the bade of small wages ought to interest the old man. But this clever plan had suddenly gone glimmering, for in order to gain admittance to the office and secure an interview with Old Swallowtail, she had inadvertently stated that she had some real estate to dispose of. So sudden a change of base required the girl to think quickly in order to formulate a new argument that would hold his attention. To gain time, she said slowly, My name is Josie Jessup. I'm a sowing-girl by profession. Yes, I know, he replied. I've been here ten days or so working for Miss Burroughs. I have seen you here, said Mr. Craig. She wondered how he knew so much, as he had never seemed to favor her with even a glance when by chance they met in the street. But perhaps Ingoa had told him. I like Craig's crossing, continued Josie, assuming a confidential tone, and I've made up my mind I'd like to live here. There ought to be plenty of work sowing for the farmer's wives outside of what Miss Huckins does, and it don't cost much to live in a small town. In the city I own a little house, and a lot left to me by my uncle on my mother's side, and I have decided to trade it for some place here. Don't you know, sir, of someone who'd like to move to the city, and will be glad to make the exchange? I know of no such person, he replied coldly. But will you make inquiries? It would be useless. I am very busy today, so if you will excuse me— He rose and bowed. Josie was disappointed. She decided to revert to her first proposition. Doesn't your grandfather need some sowing done, sir? She asked, with a frank look, from her innocent blue eyes. He stood still, silently studying her face. With one hand he rubbed his chin gently as if in thought. Then he said, We cannot afford to hire our sowing done, but I thank you for the offer. Good morning, Miss Jessup. Walking to the door he held it open and bowed gravely as she walked out. Next moment she heard the key click as it turned in the lock. Josie, feeling a sense of failure, slowly went down the stairs, entered the store and perched herself upon the sugar-barrow. And Saul was waiting on a farmer's wife and only gave the girl a glance. Josie reflected on her interview with Mr. Craig while it was fresh in her mind. He was no crude, uneducated country bumpkin, despite his odd ways and peculiar dress. Indeed the man had astonished her by his courtesy, his correct method of speech, his perfect self-assurance. Her visit was calculated to annoy him and to arouse his impatience. After Ingwa's report of him she expected he would become scornful or sarcastic, or even exhibit violent anger, yet there had been nothing objectionable in his manner or words. Still, he had dismissed her as abruptly as possible and was not eager to grasp an opportunity to exchange real estate. That isn't his business at all, she told herself. It's merely a blind, although he actually did rent the Kenton place to Colonel Hathaway. I wonder what he does in that office all day. In the inner room, of course, that is his real workshop. He's quite gentlemanly. He has a certain amount of breeding which Ingwa wholly lacks. He must realize what a crude and uncultured little thing his granddaughter is. Then why hasn't he tried to train her differently? Really he quite awed me with his stately, composed manner. No one would expect that sort of man to be a murderer. But, there, haven't I been warned that the educated gentleman is the worst type of criminal and the most difficult to detect? Saul's customer went away and the old man approached the barrel. Well, he said, want to buy anything today? No, said Josie pleasantly. This is only a social call. I've just come from Old Swallowtail's office and thought a word with you would cheer me up. You, you've been to Old Swallowtail's office, sakes alive, gal. I wouldn't dare to do that myself. Why not? He goes crazy when he gets mad. Are you sure of that? Everybody here knows it from the three-year-olds up. What did you go to him for? A little matter of business. Any slam the door in your face? Oh, indeed. That's funny, said Old Saul, rubbing his forehead in a perplexed way. He was very decent to me, continued Josie, acted like a gentleman, talked as if he'd been to school, you know. School? Well, I should say he had, exclaimed the storekeeper. Old Swallowtail's the most educated man in these ear parts, I guess. Old Nick Craig, his daddy, wanted for him to be a preacher, or priest, most likely. And when he was a boy, his old man paid good money to have him educated at a college. But Hezekiah went over religious, and loudly didn't have no call to preach. So that's all the good the education ever done him. You've never felt the need of an education, have you? Asked the girl, artlessly. Me? Well, I ain't saying as I got no education, though I don't class myself in book learning with Old Swallowtail. Three winners I went to school, and once I helped with the schoolteacher. It ain't everyone has got that record. But education means more in books. It means keeping your eyes open, and getting on to the tricks of your trade. Every time I get swindled, I've learned something. And if I started this store in New York instead of Cragg's Crossing, they might be running me for president by this time. But what would Cragg's Crossing have done without you? inquired Josie. It seems to me you're needed here. Well, that's worth thinking on, admitted the storekeeper. And as for Old Swallowtail, he may have learned some tricks of his trade, too. But I don't know what his trade is. Nobody knows. I don't believe that business of his in his trade at all. I bet it's a steal, whatever its other name happens to be. But he doesn't prosper. No, he ain't got much to show for all these years. Folks used to think he'd got money saved from the sale of his land, till Ned Jocelyn come here and dallyed with Old Swallowtail's savings and then took to the woods. It's generally believed that what Cragg once had, Ned's got now. But it don't matter much. Cragg ain't got longed to live, and his feed don't cost him and his little gal much more than it cost to feed my cat. There was no further information to be gleaned from Sal Jerams. So Josie walked home. End of Chapter 13. Read by Cibella Denton. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 14 of Mary Louise and the Country by L. Frank Baum. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Chapter 14 Midnight Vigils. Well, how is our girl detective progressing in her discovery of crime and criminals? Asked Colonel Hathaway that evening, as they sat in the living room after dinner. Don't call me a girl detective, please, pleaded Josie O'Gorman. I'm only an apprentice at the trade, Colonel, and I have never realized, more than I do at this moment, the fact that I have considerable to learn before I may claim membership with the profession. Then you're finding your present trail a difficult one to follow? I believe my stupidity is making it difficult, admitted Josie with a sigh. Father would scold me soundly if he knew how foolishly I behaved to-day. There was every opportunity of my forcing a clue by calling unexpectedly on Mr. Cragett's office, but he defeated my purpose so easily that now I'm wondering if he suspects who I am and why I'm here. He couldn't have been more cautious. He could scarcely suspect that, said the Colonel musingly. But I've noticed that these simple country people are a cherry of confiding in strangers. Ah! If Mr. Cragett were only that, a simple unlettered countryman, as I thought him, I should know how to win his confidence. But do you know, sir, he is well educated and intelligent, once he studied for the priesthood or ministry, attending a theological college? Indeed! My informant, the village authority, who is Saul Jerums, the storekeeper, says he objected to becoming a priest at the last because he had no leaning that way. My own opinion is that he feared his ungovernable temper would lead to his undoing. I am positive that his hysterical fury when aroused has gotten him into trouble many times, even in this patient community. That's it," said Mary Louise, with conviction. His temper has often made him cruel to poor Inga, and perhaps his temper caused unfortunate Ned Jocelyn to disappear. Have you discovered anything more than you have told me? She asked. Not a thing, replied Mary Louise. I'm waiting for you to make discoveries, Josie. A puzzle that is readily solved, remarked the colonel picking up his book, is of little interest. The obstacles you are meeting, Josie, incline me to believe you girls have unearthed the real mystery. It is not a mystery of the moment, however, so take your time to fathom it. The summer is young yet. Josie went to her room early, saying she was tired, but as soon as she was alone and free she slipped on a jacket and stealthily left the house. Down the driveway she crept like a shadow, out through the gates, over the bridge, and then she turned down the pathway leading to Old Swallowtail's cottage. The stepping-stones are a nearer route, she reflected, but I don't care to tackle them in the dark. The cottage contained but three rooms. The larger one downstairs was a combination kitchen and dining-room. A small wing, built up on one side, was used by Mr. Crag for his private apartment, but its only outlet was through the main room. At the back was a lean-to shed in which was built a narrow flight of stairs leading to a little room in the attic where Inge slept. Josie knew the plan of the house perfectly, having often visited Inge during the day when her grandfather was absent and helped her sweep and make the beds and wash the dishes. Tonight Josie moved noiselessly around the building, satisfied herself that Inge was asleep and that Mr. Crag was still awake, and then strove to peer through the shuttered window to discover what the old man was doing. She found this impossible. Although the weather was warm, the window was tightly shut, and the thick curtain was drawn across it. Josie slipped over to the riverbank, and in the shadow of a tree sat herself down to watch and wait, with such patience as she could muster. It was half past nine o'clock, and Inge had told her that when her grandfather was wakeful and indulged in his long walks he usually left the house between ten o'clock and midnight, seldom earlier and never later. He would go to bed, the child said, and finding he could not sleep, would again dress and go out into the night, only to return at early morning. Josie doubted that he ever undressed on such occasions, knowing, as he no doubt did, perfectly well what his program for the night would be. She had decided that the nocturnal excursions were not due to insomnia, but were carefully planned to avoid possible observation. When all the countryside was wrapped in slumber, the old gentleman stole from his cottage and went, Where? Doubtless to some secret place that had an important bearing on his life and occupation. It would be worthwhile, Josie believed, to discover the object of these midnight excursions. Inge claimed that her grandfather's periods of wakeful walking were irregular. Sometimes he would be gone night after night, and then for weeks he would remain at home and sleep like other folks. So Josie was not surprised when Old Swallowtail's light was extinguished shortly after ten o'clock, and from then until midnight he had not left the house. Evidently this was not one of his wakeful periods. The girl's eyes, during this time, never left the door of the cottage. The path to the bridge passed her scarcely five yards distant. Therefore, as Hezekiah Craig had not appeared, he was doubtless sleeping the sleep of the jest, or the unjust, for all sorts of conditions of men indulged in sleep. Josie waited until nearly one o'clock. Then she went home, let herself in by a side door to which she had taken the key, and in a few minutes was as sound asleep as Old Swallowtail ought to be. For three nights in succession the girl maintained this vigil, with no result whatever. It was weary some work, and she began to tire of it. On the fourth day, as she was visiting with Inge, she asked, Has your grandfather had any sleepless nights lately? I don't know, was the reply, but he ain't walked any, as he sometimes does, for I ain't heard him go out. Do you always hear him? Perhaps not always, but most times. And does he walk more than one night, inquired Josie? When he takes them fits they last for a week or more, asserted Inge, then for a long time he sleeps quiet. Will you let me know the next time he takes to walking? Why? asked the child suspiciously. It's a curious habit, Josie explained, and I'd like to know what he does during all those hours of the night. He walks, declared Inge, and if he does anything else it's his own business. I've wondered, said Josie impressively, if he doesn't visit some hidden grave during those midnight rambles. Inge was shuttered. I wish she wouldn't talk like that, she whispered, but gives me the creeps. Wouldn't you like to know the truth of all this mystery, Inge? Sometimes I would, and sometimes I wouldn't. If the truth leaked out, maybe Grandad would get into a lot of trouble. I don't want that, Josie. I ain't got no cause to love Grandad, but he's a crag, and I'm a crag, and no crag ever went back on the family. It seemed unwise to urge the child further to betray her grandfather, yet for Inge's sake, if for no other reason, Josie was determined to uncover the hidden life of Hezekiah crag. The following night she watched again at her station by the riverbank, and again the midnight hours struck and the old man had not left his cottage. His light was extinguished at eleven o'clock. At twelve-thirty Josie rose from the shadow of the tree and slowly walked to the bridge. There instead of going home, she turned in the direction of the town. In the sky were a few stars, and the slim crescent of a new moon, affording sufficient light to guide her steps. Crickets chirped, and frogs in the marshes sang their horse-love songs, but otherwise an intense stillness pervaded the countryside. You must not consider Josie O'Gorman an especially brave girl, for she had no thought of fear in such solitary wanderings. Although but seventeen years of age she had been reared from early childhood in an atmosphere of intrigue and mystery, for her detective father had been accustomed to argue his cases and their perplexities with his only child, and for hours at a time he would instruct her in all the details of his profession. It was O'Gorman's ambition that his daughter might become a highly proficient female detective. There are so many cases where a woman is better than a man, he would say, and there is such a lack of competent women in this important and fascinating profession that I am promoting the interests of both my daughter and the public safety by training Josie to become a good detective. And the girl, having been her father's confidant since she was able to walk and talk, became saturated with detective lore and only needed practical experience and more mature judgment fully to justify O'Gorman's ambition for her. However, the shrewd old secret service officer well knew that the girl was not yet ready to be launched into active service. The experience she needed was only to be gained in just such odd private cases as the one in which she was now engaged, so he was glad to let her come to Cragg's crossing, and Josie was glad to be there. She was only content when working, and however the crag mystery developed or resulted, her efforts to solve it were sure to sharpen her wits and add to her practical knowledge of her future craft. When she reached the town she found it absolutely deserted. Not a light shone anywhere, no watchman was employed, the denizens of Cragg's crossing were all in bed and reveling in dreamland. Josie sat on the bottom stair of the flight leading to the store and removed her shoes. Upstairs the family of Sol Jerams and Miss Huckins the dressmaker were sleeping and must not be disturbed. The girl made no sound as she mounted the stairs and softly stole to the door of H. Cragg's real estate office. Sure it was dark as could be, but Josie drew some skeleton keys from her pocket and slid them one by one into the lock. The fourth key fitted. She opened the door silently, and having entered the room drew the door shut behind her. The thick shade was drawn over the window. It was as black here as it was in the hallway. Josie flashed a small searchlight on the door of the connecting room and saw that it was not only locked in the ordinary manner, but that the padlock she had noted on her former visit to the room was now inserted in the hasp and formed an additional security against intrusion. While her electric spotlight played upon this padlock she bent over and examined it swiftly but with care. A Yale lock, she muttered, it can't be picked but it will delay me for only a few minutes. Then from her pocket she brought out a small steel hacksaw, and as she could not work the saw and hold the flashlight at the same time she went to the window and removed the heavy shade. The light that now came into the room was dim but sufficient for her purpose. Returning to the door of the mysterious inner room, the contents of which she had determined to investigate, she seized the padlock firmly with one hand while with the other she began to saw through the steel loop that passed through the hasp. The sound made by the saw was so slight that it did not worry her, but another sound of an entirely different character in coming from the hallway caused her to pause and glance over her shoulder. Finally the outer door opened and a form appeared in the doorway. It was a mere shadow at first, but it deliberately advanced to the table, struck a match, and lighted a small kerosene lamp. She was face to face with old swallow-tail. CHAPTER XV of Mary Louise and the Country by L. Frank Baum. CHAPTER XV. OLD SWALLOWTAIL. Josie was so astonished that she still bent over the lock, motionless, saw in hand. In the instant she made a mental review of her proceedings and satisfied herself that she had been guilty of no professional blunder. The inopportune appearance of Mr. Craig must be attributed to a blind chance, to fate. So the first wave of humiliation that swept over her receded as she gathered her wits to combat this unexpected situation. Mr. Craig stood by the table looking at her. He was very calm. The discovery of the girl had not aroused that violence of temper for which the old man was noted. Josie straightened up, slipped the saw in her pocket and faced him unflinchingly. "'Won't you sit down?' he said, pointing to a chair beside her. "'I would like to know why you have undertaken to rob me.'" Josie sat down, her heart bounding with joy. If he mistook her for a thief, all was not lost, and she would not have to write finie as yet to this important case. But she made no answer to his remark. She merely stared at him in a dull, emotionless way that was cleverly assumed. "'I suppose,' he continued, "'you have been told I am rich, a miser, and perhaps you imagine I keep my wealth in that little room, because I have taken pains to secure it from intrusion by prying meddlers. I suspected you, my girl, when you came to see me the other day. Your errand was palpably invented. You wanted to get the lay of the room in preparation for this night's work. But who told you I was worthy of being robbed? Was it Ingla?' "'No,' came a surly reply. She won't mention you to me.' "'Very good. But the neighbors, the busy bodies around here? Perhaps sold Saul-Jarrem's as gossiped of my supposed horde. Is it not so?' Josie dropped her eyes as if confused but remained silent. The old man seemed to regard her as a curiosity, for his cold gray eyes examined her person with the same expression with which he might have regarded a caged monkey. "'Then you do not wish to confess?' "'What's the use?' she demanded with a burst of impatience. Haven't you caught me at the job?' He continued to eye her reflectively. "'The city's breed felons,' he remarked. It is a pity so young a girl should have chosen so dangerous and disastrous a career. It is inevitably disastrous. How did it happen that Colonel Hathaway allowed you to impose on him?' "'I do sewing,' she said doggedly. In order to gain entrance to a household, I suppose. But Hathaway is wealthy. Why did you not undertake to rob him instead of me?' "'One at a time,' said Josie, with a short laugh. "'Ah, I understand. You expected to make the small pickups and then land the Grand Coup. The answer is simple, after all. But,' his voice growing stern and menacing for the first time, I do not intend to be robbed, my girl. Please Hathaway, if you can, it is none of my business, but you must not pry into my personal affairs or rifle my poor rooms. Do you understand me?' "'I—I think so, sir. Avoid me hereafter. Keep out of my path. The least interference from you in any way will oblige me to turn you over to the police.' "'You'll let me go now?' he glanced at her frowning. "'I am too much occupied to prosecute you, unless you annoy me further. Perhaps you have this night learned a lesson that will induce you to abandon such desperate criminal ventures.' Josie stood up. "'I wish I knew how you managed to catch me,' she said with a sigh. "'You were watching my house tonight, waiting until I was safely in bed before coming here. I happened to leave my room for a little air, and going out my back door I passed around the house and stood at the corner in deep shade. My eyes were good enough to distinguish a form lurking under the tree by the riverbank. I went in, put out my light, and returned to my former position. You watched the house and I watched you. You are not very clever for all your slinus. You will never be clever enough to become a good thief, meaning a successful thief. After half an hour I saw you rise and take the path to the village. I followed you. Do you understand now? God has protected the just and humbled the wicked.' That final sentence surprised the girl. Coming from his lips it shocked her. In his former speech he had not denounced her crime, but only her indiscretion in the folly of her attempt. Suddenly he referred to God as his protector, asserting his personal uprightness as warrant for divine protection, and singularly enough his tone was sincere. Josie hesitated whether to go or not, for old swallow-tail seemed in a talkative mood, and she had already discovered a new angle to his character. By way of diversion she began to cry. I—I know I'm wicked, she sobbed. It's wrong to steal, I know it is. But I—I need the money, and you've got lots of it, and—and— I thought you must be just as wicked as I am." His expression changed to one of a grim irony. Yes, said he, by common report I am guilty of every sin in the calendar. Do you know why? No, of course I don't, she answered, softening her sobs to hear more clearly. Years ago, when I was a young man, I stabbed a fellow student in the neck, a dreadful wound, because he taunted me about my mode of dress. I was wearing the only clothes my eccentric father would provide me with. I am wearing the same style of costume yet, as penance for that dastardly act, caused by an ungovernable temper with which I have been cursed from my birth. I would have entered the service of God had it not been for that temper. I am unable to control it, except by avoiding undue contact with my fellow men. That is why—that is why I am living here a reckless when I should be taking an active part in the world's work. He spoke musingly, as if to himself more than to the girl who hung on each word with eager interest. No one had ever told her as much of old swallow-tail as he was now telling her of himself. She wondered why he was so confidential. Was it because she seemed dull and stupid? Because she was a stranger who was likely to de-camp instantly when he let her go? Or was the retrospective mood due to the hour and the unwanted situation? She waited, scarce breathing, lest she lose a word. The poor fellow whom I stabbed lived miserably for twenty years afterward, he went on, and I supported him and his family during that time, for his life had been ruined by my act. Later in life and here at the crossing people saw me kill a bulky horse in a wild rage, and they have been afraid of me ever since. Even more recently I— He suddenly paused, remembering where he was and whom he was speaking. The girl's face was perfectly blank when he shot a shrewd glance at it. Her looks seemed to relieve his embarrassment. However, he said in a different tone, I'm not so black as I'm painted. I don't think you treat poor Ingle quite right, remarked Josie. Hey, why not? You neglect her. You don't give her enough to eat. She hasn't dressed fit for a rag-a-muffin to wear, and she's your granddaughter. He drew in a long breath, staring hard. Has she been complaining? Not to me, said Josie, but she doesn't need to. Haven't I eyes? Doesn't every one say it's a shame to treat the poor child the way you do? My personal opinion is that you're a poor excuse for a grandfather, she added, with more spirit than she had yet exhibited. He sat silent a long time, looking at the lamp. His face was hard, his long, slim fingers twitched as if longing to throttle someone, but he positively ignored Josie's presence. She believed he was struggling to subdue what Ingle called the devils, and would not have been surprised had he broken all bounds and tried to do her an injury. Go!" he said at last, still without looking at her, go and remember that I will not forgive twice. She thought it best to obey. Very softly she left the room, and as she passed out he was still staring at the flame of the lamp, and alternately clenching and unclenching his talon-like fingers. CHAPTER XVI. Ingle's New Dress. Well, said Mary Louise, when Josie had related to her friend the story next morning, what do you think of Old Swallowtail now? About the same as before. I'm gradually accumulating facts to account for the old man's strange actions, but I'm not ready to submit them for criticism just yet. The plot is still a bit ragged, and I want to mend the holes before I spread it out before you. Do you think he suspects who you are? No. He thinks I'm away from the city with a penchant for burglary. He expects me to rob you presently and then run away. I'm so unlikely to cross his path again that he talked with unusual frankness, to me, or at me, if you prefer to put it that way. All I gained last night was the knowledge that he's afraid of himself, that his temper cost him a career in the world and obliged him to live in seclusion, and that he has a secret which he doesn't intend any red-headed girl to stumble on accidentally. And you think he was angry when you accused him of neglecting Ingle? I'm sure he was. It made him more furious than my attempt to saw his padlock. Come, let's run over and see Ingle now. I want to ask her how her grandfather treated her this morning. They walked through the grounds, crossed the river on the stepping-stones, and found Ingle just finishing her morning's work. The child greeted them eagerly. I'm glad you come, she said, for I was meanin' to run over to your place pretty soon. What do you think has happened? Last night in the middle of the night, or perhaps near a morning, grandad begun to slam things around. The smashin' of tables and chairs woke me up, but I didn't dare go down to see what was the matter. He tumbled everything round the kitchen and then went into his own room and made the fur fly there. I knew he were in one of his tantrums and that he'd be sorry if he broke things, but it wasn't no time to interfere. When the rump has stopped, I went to sleep again, but I got up early and had his breakfast all ready when he came from his room. I picked up all the stuff he'd scattered and mended a broken chair and things didn't look so bad. Well, old Swallowtail just looked around the room and then at me and sat down to eat. Ingle, he says pretty soon, you need a new dress. Say, girls, I'm here to fell over backwards. Go down to Saul Jarem, says he, and pick out the goods, and I'll pay for it. I'll stop in this morning and tell Saul to let you have it. Anne, says he, lookin' at me rather queer. You might ask that red-headed sewing girl that's stayin' in at the hathaways to make it up for you. I don't think she'll ask you a cent for the work. Grandad, says I, would you have a crack except charity even to the makin' of a dress? No, says he. The girl owes me somethin' and I guess she'll be glad to square the account. Then he goes away to town and I've been nervous and flustered ever since. I can't make it out. I can't. Do you owe him anything, Josie? Yes, said Josie with a laugh. I believe I do. You shall have the dress, Ingle, all made up, and I'll go down with you to help pick out the goods. So will I, exclaimed Mary Louise, highly delighted. And we will have Miss Huckins cut it and fit it, continued Josie. Much good at that thing, Ingle, so we will have a real dressmaker, and I'll pay her and charge it up to what I owe your grandfather. The little girl seemed puzzled. How do you happen to owe him anything, Josie? She asked. Didn't he tell you? Not a word. Then he expects it to remain a secret, and you must and urge me to tell. I'm pretty good at keeping secrets, Ingle. Aren't you glad of that? They trooped away to town presently, all in high spirits, and purchased the dress and trimmings at the store. Old Saul was so astonished at this transaction that he assailed the three girls with a thousand questions, to none of which did he receive a satisfactory reply. He didn't put no limit on the deal, said this doorkeeper. He just said, Whatever the gal picks out, charge it to me, and I'll pay the bill. Looks like Olds Wallertel had gone plum crazy, don't it? Then they went upstairs to Miss Huckins, who was likewise thrilled with excitement at the startling event of Ingle's having a new dress. Mary Louise and Josie helped plan the dress, which was to be a simple and practical affair, after all, and the dressmaker measured the child carefully and promised her fitting the very next day. I don't quite understand, remarked Ingle, as they walked home after this impressive ceremony. Why you don't make the dress yourself, Josie, and save your money. You're a dressmaker, you say. I'm a sewing girl, replied Josie calmly, but I promised Mary Louise to sew for no one but her while I'm here, and I'm too lazy to sew much anyway. I'm having a sort of vacation, you know. Josie is my friend, explained Mary Louise, and I won't let her sew at all if I can help it. I want her to be just my companion and have a nice visit before she goes back to the city. But when the two girls were alone, Josie said to Mary Louise, Old Crag isn't so stony-hearted after all. Just my suggestion last night that Ingle was being neglected has resulted in a new dress. He threw things, though, before he made up his mind to be generous, observed Mary Louise. But this proves that the old man isn't so very poor. He must have a little money, Josie. Josie nodded her head absently. She was trying hard to understand Mr. Crag's character, and so far it baffled her. He had frankly admitted his ungovernable temper and had deplored it. Also he had refrained from having Josie arrested for burglary because he was too occupied to prosecute her. Occupied? Occupied with what? Surely not the real estate business. She believed the true reason for her escape was that he dreaded prominence. Old Swallowtail did not wish to become mixed up with police courts any more than he could help. This very occurrence made her doubt him more than ever. CHAPTER XVII of Mary Louise and the Country by L. Frank Baum CHAPTER XVII A Clue at Last That night Josie resumed her watch of Crag's cottage. She did not trust to the shadow of the tree to conceal her, but hid herself under the bank of the river, among the dry stones, allowing only her head to project above the embankment, and selecting a place where she could peer through some low bushes. She suspected that the excitement of the previous night might render the old man nervous and wakeful, and send him out on one of his midnight prowls. This suspicion seemed justified when, at eleven thirty, his light went out, and a few minutes later he turned the corner of the house and appeared in the path. He did not seem nervous, however. With hands clasped behind his back and head bowed, he leisurely paced the path to the bridge, without hesitation, crossed the river, and proceeded along the road in a direction opposite to the village. Josie was following, keeping herself concealed with utmost care. He remembered that his eyes were sharp in penetrating shadows. He kept along the main country road for a time, and then turned to the right and followed an intersecting road. Half a mile in this direction brought him to a lane running between two farm-trucks, but which was so little used that grass and weeds had nearly obliterated all traces of wagon-wheels. By this time Josie's eyes were so accustomed to the dim moonlight that she could see distinctly some distance ahead of her. The sky was clear, there was just enough wind to rattle the leaves of the trees. Now and then in some barmyard a cock would crow or a dog bark, but no other sounds broke the stillness of the night. The girl knew now where Old Swallowtail was bound. At the end of this lane lay his five acres of stones, and he was about to visit it. The fact gave her a queer little thrill of the heart, for a dozen strange fancies crossed her mind in rapid succession. If he had really killed Ned Jocelyn it was probable he had buried the man in this neglected place among the rubble of stones. Josie had inspected every foot of ground on the Kenton Place, and satisfied herself no grave had been dug there. Indeed, at the time of Jocelyn's disappearance the ground had been frozen so hard that the old man could not have dug grave. Perhaps after a night or two he had dragged the corpse here and covered it with stones. It would be a safe hiding-place. And now regret for his act drove the murderer here night after night to watch over the secret grave. Or granting that the supposed crime had not been committed, might not Mr. Craig have discovered some sort of mineral wealth in his stone yard, which would account for his paying taxes on the place and visiting it so often? Or did he simply love the solitude of the dreary waste where, safe from prying eyes, he could sit among the rocky boulders and commune with himself beneath the mood-light sky? Such conjectures as these occupied the girl's mind while she stealthily shadowed the old man along the lane. Never once did he look behind him, although she was prepared to dissolve from view instantly, had he done so. And at last the end of the lane was reached and he climbed the rail-fence which separated it from the valley of stones. Josie saw him pause, motionless as he clung to the rails. She guessed from his attitude that he was staring straight ahead of him at something that had surprised him. A full minute he remained thus before he let himself down on the other side and disappeared from view. The girl ran lightly forward and crouching low, peered through the bars of the fence. Half a dozen paces distant the old man stood among the stones in a silent paroxysm of rage. He waved his long arms in the air, a naan clenching his fists and shaking them at some object beyond him. His frail old body fluttered back and forth, right and left, as if he were doing a weird dance among the rocks. The violence of his emotion was something terrible to witness and fairly startled the girl. Had he screamed or sobbed or shrieked or moaned, the scene would have been more bearable, but such excess of silent, intense rage made her afraid for the first time in her life. She wanted to run away. At one time she actually turned to fly, but then common sense came to her rescue, and she resolved to stay and discover what had affected old Swallowtail so strongly. From her present position she could see nothing more than a vista of tumbled stones, but rising until her head projected above the topmost rail, she presently saw, far across the valley, an automobile, standing silhouetted against the gray background. The machine was at present vacant. It had been driven in from the other side of the valley, where doubtless there were other lanes corresponding with the one she was in. However, there was no fence on that side to separate the lane from the waste-track, so the machine had been driven as close as possible to the edge of the stones. Although the automobile was deserted, that was evidently the object which had aroused old Cragg's fury, the object at which he was even yet shaking his clenched fists. Josie wondered and watched. Gradually the paroxysm of Wrath diminished. Presently the old man stood as motionless as the stones about him. Five minutes, perhaps, he remained thus, controlling himself by a mighty effort, regaining his capacity to think and reason. Then to the girl's amazement he tottered toward a large, self-like slab of stone, and kneeling down, as before an altar, he bared his head, raised his arms on high, and began to pray. There was no mistaking this attitude. Old Swallowtail was calling on God to support him in his hour of trial. Josie felt something clutching at her heart. Nothing could be more impressive than this scene, this silent but earnest appeal to the most high by the man whom she suspected of murder, of crimes even more terrible. She could see his eyes, pleading and sincere, turned upward. She could see his gray hair flutter in the breeze, could see his lips move, though they uttered no sound. And after he had poured out his heart to his maker he extended his arms upon the slab, rested his head upon them, and again became motionless. The girl waited. She was sorely troubled, surprised, even humiliated at being the witness of this extraordinary and varied display of emotion. She felt a sense of intrusion that was almost unjustifiable, even in a detective. What right had anyone to spy upon a communion between God and man? He rose at length, rose and walked uncertainly forward, stumbling among the ragged rocks. He made for the far hillside that was cluttered with huge fragments of stone, some weighing many tons, and all tumbled helter-skelter as if aimlessly tossed there by some giant hand. And when he reached the place he threaded his way between several great boulders and suddenly disappeared. Josie hesitated a moment what to do, yet instinct urged her to follow. She had a feeling that she was on the verge of an important discovery, that events were about to happen which had been wholly unforeseen, even by Old Craig himself. She was taking a serious risk by venturing on the stony ground, for under the moonlight her dark form would show distinctly against the dull gray of the stones. Yet she climbed the fence, and with her eye fixed on the cluster of rocks where Old Swallotel had disappeared, she made her way as best she could toward the place. Should the old man reappear, or the owner of the strange automobile emerge from the rocks, Josie was sure to be discovered, and there was no telling what penalty she might be obliged to pay for spying. It was a dreary, deserted place, more than one grave might be made there without much chance of detection. In a few minutes she had reached the hillside and was among the great boulders. She passed between the same ones where Mr. Craig had disappeared, but found so many said here and there that to follow his trail was impossible unless chance let her aright. There were no paths, for a rubble of small stones covered the ground everywhere. Between some of the huge rocks the passage was so narrow she could scarcely swiggies through. Between others there was ample space for two people to walk abreast. The girl paused frequently to listen, taking care of the wild to make no sound herself, but an intense silence pervaded the place. After wandering here and there for a time without result she had started to return to the entrance of this labyrinth when her ears for the first time caught a sound, a peculiar grinding, thumping sound that came from beneath her feet seemingly, and was of so unusual a character that she was puzzled to explain its cause. The shadows cast by the towering rocks rendered this place quite dark, so Josie crouched in the deepest shade she could find and listened carefully to the strange sound, trying to determine its origin. It was surely underground, a little to the right of her, perhaps beneath the hillside, which slanted abruptly from this spot. She decided there must be some secret passage that led to a cave under the hill. Such a cave might be either natural or artificial. In either case she was sure Old Craig used it as a rendezvous or workshop, and visited it stealthily on his wakeful nights. Having located the place to the best of her ability, Josie began to consider what caused that regular thumping noise which still continued without intermission. I think it must be some sort of engine, she reflected, a lamp for ore or something of that sort. Still it isn't likely there is any steam or electrical power to operate the motor of so big a machine. It must be a dye stamp, though, operated by foot-power, or, this is most likely, a foot-power printing press. Well, if a dye stamp or a printing press, I believe the mystery of Old Swallowtail's business is readily explained. She sat still there, crouching between the rocks, for more than two hours before the sound of the machine finally ceased. Another hour passed in absolute silence. She ventured to flash her pocket-search-slide upon the dial of her watch, and found it was nearly four o'clock. Dawn would come presently, and then her situation would be more precarious than ever. While she thus reflected the sound of footsteps reached her ears, very near to her indeed, and then a voice muttered, Come this way, have you forgotten? Forgotten, I found the place, didn't I, was the surly reply. Then there passed her so closely that she could have touched them three dim forms. She watched them go and promptly followed, taking the chance of discovery if they looked behind. They were wholly unconscious of her presence, however, and soon made their way out into the open. There they paused, and Josie, hiding behind a high rock, could both see and hear them plainly. One was old crag, another, a tall, thin man with a monocle in his left eye. The third, she found to her surprise, was none other than Jim Bennett, the postman. The tall man held in his arms a heavy bundle, securely wrapped. You'll surely get them off to-morrow, said crag to him. Of course, was the answer. You may be certain I'll not have them on my hands longer than is necessary. Do you mean to play square this time? Don't be a fool, said the tall man impatiently. Your infernal suspicions have caused trouble enough during the past year. Hidden like a crab in your shell, you think everything on the outside is going wrong. Can't you realize, crag, that I must be loyal to C. I. L.? There's no question of my playing square, and I've got to. That's right, sir, broke in Jim Bennett. Seems to me he has explained everything in a satisfactory manner, as far as anyone could explain. Then good night, said crag gruffly, and good luck. Good night, growled the tall man in return, and made off in the direction of the automobile, carrying the package with him. The other two stood silently watching him until he reached the car, took his seat, and started the motor. Presently the machine passed out of sight, and then Bennett said in a tone of deepest respect, Good night, chief. This meeting was a great thing for C. I. L. It brings us all nearer to final success. I wish I could trust him, replied crag doubtfully. Good night, Jim. The postman made off in another direction, and the old man waited until he had fully disappeared before he walked away over the stones himself. Josie let him go. He did not care to follow him home. Weary though she was from her long vigil, she determined to examine the rocks by daylight before she left the place. The sun was just showing its rim over the hills which she quitted as a kia crags five acres of stone, and took the lane to the highway. But her step was elastic, her eyes bright, her face smiling. I found the entrance, though I couldn't break in, she proudly murmured, but a little dynamite, or perhaps a few blows of an axe, will soon remove the barrier. This affair, however, is now too big and too serious for me to handle alone. I must have help. I think it will amaze dear old dad to know what I've stumbled on this night. CHAPTER XVIII of Mary Louise and the Country by L. Frank Baum Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. CHAPTER XVIII. Doubts and Suspicions. Mary Louise entered her friend's room at seven o'clock and exclaimed, Not up yet? Josie raised her head drowsily from the pillow. Let me sleep till noon, she pleaded, I've been out all night. And did you learn any thing, was the eager question. Please let me sleep. Shall I send you up some breakfast, Josie? Breakfast. Ah! She rolled over, drawing the clothes about her, and Mary Louise softly left the darkened room and went down to breakfast. Grandpa Jim, she said, thoughtfully buttering her toast, Do you think it's right for Josie to be wandering around in the dead of night? He gave her an odd look and smiled. If I remember a right, it was one Miss Mary Louise Burroughs who thrust Josie into this vortex of mystery. You didn't answer my question, Grandpa Jim. I can imagine no harm to girl or man in being abroad in this peaceful country at night, if one has the nerve to undertake it. You and I, dear, prefer our beds. Josie is wrapped up in the science of criminal investigation, and has the enthusiasm of youth to egg her on. Moreover, she is sensible enough to know what is best for her. I do not think we need to worry over her nightly wanderings, which doubtless have an object. Has she made any important discovery as yet? I believe not, said Mary Louise. She has learned enough to be positive that old Mr. Crag is engaged in some secret occupation of an illegal character, but so far she is unable to determine what it is. He's a very queer old man, it seems, but shrewd and clever enough to keep his secret to himself. And how about the disappearance of Mr. Jocelyn? We're divided in opinion about that, said the girl. Ingoa and I both believe Mr. Crag murdered him, but Josie isn't sure of it. If he did, however, Josie thinks we will find the poor man's grave somewhere under the stones of the riverbed. There was no grave dug on our grounds, that is certain. Colonel Hathaway regarded her seriously. I am sorry, Mary Louise, he remarked, that we ever decided to mix in this affair. I did not realize when first you proposed having Josie here that the thing might become so tragic. It has developed under investigation, you see, she replied. But I am not very sure of Josie's ability, because she is not very sure of it herself. She dare not, even yet, advance a positive opinion. Unless she learned something last night, she is still groping in the dark. We must give her time, said the Colonel. We have accomplished some good, however, continued the girl. Hathaway is much happier and more content. She is improving in her speech and manners, and is growing ambitious to become a respectable and refined young lady. She doesn't often give way to temper, as she used to do on every occasion, and I am sure if she could be removed from her grandfather's evil influence, she would soon develop in a way to surprise us all. Does her grandfather's influence seem to be evil, then? asked the Colonel. He has surrounded her with privations, if not actual want, she said. Only the night before this, he was in such a violent rage that he tried to smash everything in the house. That is surely an evil example to set before the child, who has a temper of her own, perhaps inherited from him. He has, however, bought her a new dress, the first one she has had in more than a year, so perhaps the old man at times relents toward his granddaughter, and tries to atone for his shortcomings. Grandpa Jim was thoughtful for a time. Perhaps, he presently remarked, Mr. Craig has but little money to buy dresses with. I do not imagine that a man so well educated as you report him to be would prefer to live in a hovel if he could afford anything better. If he is now poor, what has he done with all his money? demanded Mary Louise. That is a part of the mystery, isn't it? Do you know, my dear, I can't help having a kindly thought for this poor man, perhaps because he is a grandfather and has a granddaughter, just as I have. He doesn't treat her in the same way, Grandpa Jim, said she, with a loving look toward the handsome old Colonel. And there is a perceptible difference between Ingua and Mary Louise, he added with a smile. They were to have Ingua's dress fitted by Miss Huckins that morning, and as Josie was fast asleep, Mary Louise went across to the cottage to go with the girl and her errand. To her surprise she found old Mr. Craig sitting upon his little front porch, quite motionless and with his arms folded across his chest. He stared straight ahead and was evidently in deep thought. This was odd, because he was usually at his office an hour or more before this time. Mary Louise hesitated whether to advance or retreat. She had never as yet come into personal contact with Ingua's grandfather, and suspecting him of many crimes she shrank from meeting him now. But she was herself in plain sight before she discovered his presence, and it would be fully as embarrassing to run away as to face him boldly. Moreover, through the open doorways she could see Ingua passing back and forth in the kitchen, engaged in her customary housework. So on she came. Mr. Craig had not seemed to observe her at first, but as she now approached the porch he rose from his chair and bowed with a courtly grace that astonished her. In many ways his dignified manner seemed to fit his colonial costume. You will find Ingua inside, I believe, he said. I—I am Mary Louise Burroughs. Again he bowed. I am glad to meet you, Miss Burroughs, and I am glad that you and Ingua are getting acquainted, he rejoined, in even well modulated tones. She has not many friends, and her association with you will be sure to benefit her. Mary Louise was so amazed that she fairly gasped. I—I like Ingua, she said, we're going into town to have her new dress tried on this morning. He nodded and resumed his chair. His unexpected politeness gave her courage. It's going to be a pretty dress, she continued, and if only she had a new hat to go with it, Ingua would have a nice outfit. She needs new shoes, though, as an afterthought, and perhaps a few other little things, like stockings and underwear. He was silent, wholly unresponsive to her suggestion. I—I'd like to buy them for her myself, went on the girl in a wistful tone. Only Ingua is so proud that she won't accept gifts from me. Still he remained silent. I wonder, she said, with obvious hesitation, if you would allow me to give you the things, sir, and then you could give them to Ingua as if they came from yourself. No! It was a veritable explosion, so fierce that she started back in terror. Then he rose from his chair abruptly, quitted the porch, and walked down the path toward the bridge in his accustomed, deliberate, dignified manner. Ingua, overhearing his ejaculation, came to the open window to see what had caused it. Oh, it's you, Mary Louise, is it? She exclaimed. Thank goodness you've drove Grandad off to the office. I thought he'd planted himself in that chair for the whole day. Are you ready to go to Miss Huckins? asked Mary Louise. I will be in a few minutes. Grandad was late getting up this morning, and that put things back. He had the wakes again last night. Oh, did he walk out then? Got back at about daylight, and went to bed. That's why he slept so late. Mary Louise reflected that in such a case Josie ought to have some news to tell her. She answered Ingua's inquiries after Josie by saying she was engaged this morning, and would not go to town with them. Still presently the two girls set off together. Mary Louise was much better qualified to direct the makings of the dress than was Josie, and she gave Miss Huckins some hints on modern attire that somewhat astonished the country dressmaker, but were gratefully received. There was no question but that Mary Louise was stylishly, if simply dressed, on all occasions, and so Miss Huckins was glad to follow the young girl's advice. They were in the dressmaker's shop a long time, fitting and planning, and when at length they came down the stairs they saw Saul Jerem standing in his door, and closely scrutinizing, through his big horn spectacles, something he held in his hand. As Mary Louise wished to make a slight purchase at the store, she approached the proprietor, who said in a puzzled tone of voice, I don't know what to say to you, folks, because I'm up in the air. This money may be genuine, but it looks to me like a counterfeit, and he held up a new ten-dollar bill. I want a roll of tape, please, said Mary Louise. I hope your money is good, Mr. Jerem's, but its value cannot interest us. I don't know about that, he replied, looking hard at Ingoa. Old Swallowtail, give me this bill not ten minutes ago, and said as his granddaughter was to buy whatever she liked, as far as the money would go. That order was so queer that it made me suspicious. See here, a few days ago old Craig bought Ingoa a new dress, and paid for it by gum, and now he wants her to get ten dollars with his shoes and things. Don't that look mighty strange? Why? asked Mary Louise, because it's the first money he's spent on the kids since I can remember, and he's always talking poverty and saying how he'll die in the poor house if prices keep going up, as they have during the foreign war that's now humming across the water. If he's that poor, and on a sudden springs a ten-dollar bill on me for fixings for his kid, there's sure something wrong somewhere. I got stuck on a bill just like this a year ago, and I ain't going to let any goods go till I find out for sure whether it's real money or not. When can you find out? inquired Mary Louise. Tomorrow there's a drummer due here from the city, a failure keen as a razor, who'll know in a minute if the bill is counterfeit. If he says it's good, then Ingoa can trade it out, but I ain't going to take no chances. Ingoa came close to the storekeeper, her face dark with passion. Come! said Mary Louise, shaking the child's arm. Let us go home. I am sure Mr. Jarems is over particular, and that the money is all right. But we can wait until tomorrow easily. Come, Ingoa! The child went reluctantly, much preferring to vent her indignation on old Saul. Mary Louise tried to get her mind off the insult. We'll have the things all right, Ingoa, she said. Wasn't it splendid in your grandfather to be so generous, when he has so little money to spend? And the ten dollars will fit you up famously. I wish, though, she added, there was another or a better store at the crossing at which to trade. Well, there ain't, observed Ingoa, so we have to put up with that Saul Jarems. When I tell Grandad about this business, I bet he'll punch Saul Jarems' nose. Don't tell him, advised Mary Louise. Why not? I think he gave this money to Mr. Jarems on a sudden impulse. Besides, if there is any question about its being genuine, he will take it back, and you will lose the value of it. Better wait until tomorrow, when, of course, the drummer will pronounce it all right. My opinion is that Mr. Jarems is so unused to new ten dollar bills, that having one makes him unjustly suspicious. I guess you're right, said Ingoa more cheerfully. It's amazing that Grandad loosened up at all, and he might repent like you say and take the money back. So I'll be like old Saul, and I'll take no chances. CHAPTER XIX of Mary Louise and the Country by L. Frank Baum read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. CHAPTER XIX Good Money for Bad. At luncheon Josie appeared at the table, fresh as ever, and Mary Louise began to relate to her and to her grandfather the occurrences of the morning. When she came to tell how Saul Jarems had declared the money counterfeit, Josie suddenly sprang up and swung her napkin around her head, shouting gleefully, "'Glory hallelujah, I've got him. I've trapped old Swallow-Tale at last.' They looked at her in amazement. "'What do you mean?' asked Mary Louise. Josie sobered instantly. "'Forgive me,' she said. I'm ashamed of myself. Go on with the story. What became of that counterfeit?' Mr. Jarems has it yet. He is keeping it to show to a commercial traveller who is to visit his store to-morrow. If the man declares the money is good, then Ingwe may buy her things. "'We won't bother the commercial traveller,' said Josie in a tone of relief. "'I'm going straight down to the store to redeem that bill. I want it in my possession.' Colonel Hathaway regarded her gravely. "'I think our female detective, having said so much and having exhibited such remarkable elation, must now explain her discoveries to us more fully,' said he. "'I'd rather not just yet,' protested Josie. "'But what have I said in my madness, and what did my words imply?' "'From the little I know of this case,' replied the Colonel, "'I must judge that you believe Mr. Craig to be a counterfeiter, and that his mysterious business is to counterfeit. In this out-of-the-way place,' he continued thoughtfully, such a venture might be carried on for a long time without detection. Yet there is one thing that to me forbids this theory. "'What is that, sir?' "'A counterfeiter must, of necessity, have confederates. And Mr. Craig seems quite alone in the conduct of his mysterious business.' Josie smiled quite contentedly. "'Confederates? Last night's discoveries had proved that old Swallow-Tale had two of these, at least.' "'Please don't list the word of this suspicion at present,' she warned her friends. If I am right, and I have no doubt of that, we are about to uncover a far-reaching conspiracy to defraud the government. But the slightest tint of the danger would enable them to escape, and I want the credit of putting this gang of desperadoes behind bars. Really I had no idea, when I began the investigation, that it would lead to anything so important. I thought at first it might be a simple murder case, simple because the commonest people commit murder, and to the detective the deed is more revolting than exciting. But we may dismiss the murder suspicion entirely.' "'Oh, indeed, what about Ned Jocelyn's mysterious disappearance?' asked Mary Louise. "'Jocelyn? He disappeared for a purpose,' answered Josie. I saw him last night, monical and all, acting as old Cragg's confederate. Ned Jocelyn is one of those I hope to land in prison.' Her hearers seemed quite bewildered by this positive statement. "'Where were you last night?' inquired Mary Louise. "'At that five acres of stone we once visited, which is Mr. Cragg's private property. Hidden somewhere in the hillside is a cavern, and in that cavern the counterfeit money is made. I have heard the printing-press turning it out in quantity. I saw Ned Jocelyn come away with a package of the manufactured bills, and heard old Swallowtail implore him to play square with the proceeds. There was another of the gang present also, a man whom I had considered quite an innocent citizen of Cragg's crossing, until I discovered him with the others. I think it was he who operated the press. It has been a very pretty plot, a cleverly conducted plot, and it has been a successful operation for years. But the gang is in the toils just now, and the little redheaded Josie O'Gorman is going to score a victory that will please her detective daddy mightily. Josie was surely elated when she ventured to boast in this manner. The others were duly impressed. "'You don't mean to arrest those men alone, do you, Josie?' asked the colonel somewhat anxiously. "'No, indeed. I am not yet quite ready to spring my trap,' she replied. "'When the time comes I must have assistance, but I want to get all my evidence shipped shape before I call on the Secret Service to make the capture. I can't afford to bungle so important a thing, you know, and this ten-dollar bill, so carelessly given the storekeeper, is going to put one powerful bit of evidence in my hands. That was a bad slip on old Cragg's part, for he has been very cautious in covering his tracks until now. But I surmise that Mary Louise's pleading for Ingoe this morning touched his pride, and having no real money at hand he ventured to give the storekeeper a counterfeit. And old Saul, having been caught by a counterfeit once before, I wonder if old Swallowtail gave him that one, too, became suspicious of the newness of the bill and so played directly in our hands. So now, if you'll excuse me, I'll run into town without further delay. I won't rest easy until that bill is in my possession. "'I'll go with you,' said Mary Louise eagerly. Half an hour later the two girls entered the store and found the proprietor alone. Mary Louise made a slight purchase, as an excuse, and then Josie laid ten silver dollars on the counter and said carelessly, "'Will you give me a ten-dollar bill for this silver, Mr. Jerrums? I want to send it away in a letter.' "'Sure. I'd rather have the change than the bill,' he answered, taking out his wallet. But I wouldn't send so much money in a letter if I was you. Better buy a post office order.' "'I know my business,' she pertly replied, watching him unroll the letter wallet. "'No. Don't give me that old bill. I'd rather have the new one on top. That new one, said he, I don't believe is good. Looks like a counterfeit to me.' "'Let's see it,' proposed Josie, taking the bill and scrutinizing it. I can tell a counterfeit a mile away. "'No, this is all right. I'll take it,' she decided. "'You're like to get stung if you do,' he warned her. "'I'll take my chances,' said Josie, folding the bill and putting it in her purse. "'You've got good money for it anyhow, so you've no kit coming that I can see.' "'Why, that must be the bill Mr. Kragg gave you,' Mary Louise said to the storekeeper, as if she had just recognized it. "'It is,' admitted Saul. "'Then Ingwa can now buy her outfit?' "'Anytime she likes,' he said. "'But I want it regular understood that the sewing-girl can't bring the money back to me, if she finds it bad. I ain't sure it's bad, you know, but I've warned her and now it's her lookout.' "'Of course it is,' agreed Josie, but don't worry. The bill is as good as gold. I wish I had a hundred like it.' On their way home Josie stopped a call on Ingwa, while Mary Louise at her friend's request went on. "'I've two important things to tell you,' Josie announced to the child. One is that you needn't worry any more about Ned Jocelyn's being dead. A girl whom I know well has lately seen him alive and in good health, so whatever your grandfather's crimes may have been, he is not a murderer.' Ingwa was astounded. After a moment she gasped out, "'How do you know? Who is the girl? Are you sure it was Ned Jocelyn?' "'Quite sure. He has probably been in hiding for some reason. But you mustn't tell a soul about this, Ingwa, especially your grandfather. It is part of the secret between us and that's the reason I've told you.' Ingwa still stared as if bewildered. "'Who is the girl?' she whispered. I can't tell you her name, but you may depend upon the truth of her statement, just the same. And she's sure it were Ned Jocelyn she saw. Isn't he tall and thin, with a light mustache and curly hair, and doesn't he wear a glass and one eye? With a string to it, yes. That's him sure enough. Where'd she see him?' "'Don't ask me questions. That's a part of the girl's secret, you know. She let me tell you this much, so you wouldn't worry any longer over the horror of that winter night when your grandfather went to the Kenton House and Jocelyn disappeared. I think Ingwa that the man is crooked and mixed up with a lot of scoundrels who ought to be in jail.' Ingwa nodded her head. "'Granddad told him he was crooked,' she affirmed. "'I don't say his granddad is a saint, Josie, but he ain't crooked like Ned. You can bank on that, because he's a crag and the crags are square toes even when they're chillens.' Josie smiled at this quaint speech. She was sorry for poor Ingwa, whose stalwart belief in the crag honesty was doomed to utter annihilation when her grandsire was proved to have defrauded the government by making counterfeit money. But this was no time to un-deceive the child, so she said, "'The other bit of news I have is that Saul Jarems has traded the bill which he thought was bad for good money, so you can buy your things any time you please.' Then it wasn't counterfeit. I sought myself. I've lived in the city so long that no one can fool me with counterfeit money. I can tell it in two looks, Ingwa. So I'd rather have a nice new bill than ten clumsy silver dollars and I made the trade myself. Where'd you get so much money, Josie? My wages. I don't do much work, but I get paid regularly once a week.' She didn't explain that her father made her a weekly allowance, but Ingwa was satisfied. What do you think I ought to buy with that money, Josie? I need so many things that it's hard to tell where to begin and where to leave off. Let's make a list, then, and figure it out.' Josie disoccupied them some time and proved a very fascinating occupation to the poor girl, who had never before had so much money to spend at one time. I owe it all to Mary Louise, she said gratefully as Josie rose to depart. It seems like no one can refuse Mary Louise anything. When she asked me to be more careful in my speech, didn't I do better? It slips now and then, but I'm always trying. And she tackled Granddad. If you or me or I had asked Granddad for that money, Josie would never have got it in a thousand years. Why do you suppose Mary Louise gets into people the way she does? It's personality, I suppose, answered Josie thoughtfully. And then, realizing that Ingwa might not understand that remark, she added, there's no sham about Mary Louise. She's so simple and sweet that she wins hearts without any effort. You and I have nature so positive on the contrary that we seem always on the aggressive, and that makes folks hold a loop from us or even oppose us. I wish I was like Mary Louise, said Ingwa with a sigh. I don't, declared Josie, we can all be alike, you know, and I'd rather push ahead and get a few knocks on the way than have a clear path and no opposition. End of Chapter 19. Read by Cibella Denton. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 20 of Mary Louise in the Country by L. Frank Baum. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Chapter 20 An Unexpected Appearance. For a week it was very quiet at Cragg's Crossing. The only ripple of excitement was caused by the purchase of Ingwa's new outfit. In this the child was ably assisted by Mary Louise and Josie. Indeed, finding the younger girl so ignorant of prices and even of her own needs, the two elder ones entered into a conspiracy with old Saul, and slyly added another ten dollars to Ingwa's credit. The result was that she carried home not only shoes and a new hat, trimmed by Miss Huckins without cost, the material being furnished from the fund, but a liberal supply of underwear, ribbons, collars and hosiery, and even a pair of silk gloves, which delighted the child's heart more than anything else. Miss Huckins's new dress proved very pretty in becoming, and with all her wealth of apparel Ingwa was persuaded to dine with Mary Louise at the Kenton House on a Saturday evening. The hour was set for seven o'clock, in order to allow the girl to prepare her grandfather's supper before going out, and the first intimation Old Swallowtail had of the arrangement was when he entered the house Saturday evening and found Ingwa arrayed in all her finery. He made no remark at first, but looked at her more than once, whether approvingly or not his stolid expression did not betray. When the girl did not sit down to the table and he observed she had set no place for herself, he suddenly said, Well, I'm going to eat with the hat the ways tonight, she replied. There dinner ain't ready till seven o'clock, so if you hurry I can wash the dishes afore I go. He offered no objection, indeed he said nothing at all until he had finished his simple meal. Then as she cleared the table he said, It might be well, while you are in the society of Mary Louise and Colonel Hathaway, to notice their method of speech and try to imitate it. What's wrong with my talk, she demanded. She was annoyed at the suggestion because she had been earnestly trying to imitate Mary Louise's speech. I will leave you to make the discovery yourself, he said dryly. She tossed her dishes into the hot water rather recklessly. If I ought to talk different, she said, it's your fault. You ain't give me no schooling or nothing. You don't even say six words a week to me. I'm just your slave to make your bed and cook your meals and wash your dishes. Gee, how do you suppose I'd talk, like a lady? I think, he quietly responded, you picked up your slang from your mother, who, however, had some education. The education ruined her for the quiet life here, and she plunged into the world to get the excitement she craved. Hasn't she been sorry for it many times, Ingua? I don't know much about Mom, and I don't care whether she's sorry or not. But I do know I need education. If Mary Louise hadn't had no education she'd been just like me, a bit of junk on a scrap-peep that ain't no good to itself nor anybody else. He mused silently for a while, getting up finally and walking over to the door. More peculiarities of expression, he then remarked, as if more to himself than to the child, are those we noticed in Saul Jarom's and Joe Brennan and Mary Ann Hopper. They are a characteristic of the rural population, which, having no spirit to improve its vocabulary, naturally grows degenerate in speech. She glanced at him half defiantly, not sure whether he was poking fun at her or not. If you mean I talk's country talk, said she, you're right. Why shouldn't I with no one to tell me better? Then he mused. His mood was gentle this evening. I realize I have neglected you, he presently said. You were thrust upon me like a stray kitten, which one does not want but cannot well reject. Your mother has not supplied me with money for your education, although she has regularly paid for your keep. She has, cried Ingoa, astounded. Then you've swindled her and me both, for I pays more in my keep in hard work. My keep, for the love of Mike, what does my keep amount to, a cent a year? He wentst a little at her sarcasm, but soon collected himself. Strangely enough, he did not appear to be angry with her. I've neglected you, he repeated, but it has been an oversight. I have so much on my mind that I scarcely realized you were here. I forgot you are Nan's child and that you—you needed attention. Ingoa put on her new hat, looking into a cracked mirror. You might have remembered I'm a crag, anyhow, she said, mollified by his tone of self-approach. And you might have remembered as you're a crag. The crags are to help each other, because all the world's again'em. He gave her an odd look, in which pride, perplexity, and astonishment mingled. And you're going into the enemy's camp tonight? Oh, Mary Louise is all right. She ain't like them other snippy girls that sometimes comes here to the big houses. She don't care if I'm a crag or if I talk's country. I like Mary Louise. When she had gone, the old man sat in deep thought for a long time. The summer evening cast shadows. Twilight fell. This gradually shrouded the bare little room. Still he sat in his chair, staring straight ahead into the gloom and thinking. Then the door opened. Shifting his eyes he discovered a dim shadow in the opening. Whoever it was stood motionless until a low, clear voice asked sharply, anybody home? He got up then, and shuffled to a shelf, where he felt for a kerosene lamp and lighted it. Come in, Nan, he said, without turning around, as he stooped over the lamp and adjusted the wick. The yellow light showed a young woman, standing on the doorway, a woman of perhaps thirty-five. She was tall, erect, her features well-formed, her eyes bright and searching. Her walking suit was neat and modish, and fitted well her graceful rounded form. On her arm was a huge basket, which she placed upon a chair as she advanced into the room and closed the door behind her. So you've come back, remarked Old Swallowtail, standing before her and regarding her critically. A self-evident fact, Dad, she answered lightly, removing her hat, wears ingua. At a dinner-party across the river. That's good. Is she well? What do you care, Nan, whether she is well or not? If she's at a dinner-party, I needn't worry. Forgive the foolish question, Dad. Brennan promised to bring my suitcase over in the morning. I lugged the basket myself. What's in the basket? Food. Unless you've changed your mode of living, the cupboard's pretty bare, and this is Saturday night. I can sleep on that heartbreaking husk mattress with ingua, but I'll be skinned if I eat your salt-junk and corn-pone. Four-worned is four-armed. I brought my own grub. As she spoke she hung her hat and coat on some pegs, turned the lamp a little higher, and then, pausing with hands on hips, she looked inquisitively at her father. You seem pretty husky for your age, she continued, with a hard little laugh. You've been prospering, Nan. Yes, sitting in a chair and crossing her legs, I found my forte at last. For three years nearly I've been employed by the Secret Service Department at Washington. Ah! I've made good. My record as a woman's sleuth is excellent. I make more money in a week when I'm working than you do in a year. Unless—she paused abruptly and gave him a queer look. Unless it's true that you're coining money in a way that's not legal. He stood motionless before her reading her face. She returned his scrutiny with interest. Here resumed the conversation for a time. Finally the old man sank back into his chair. A female detective, said he a little bitterly, is still a female. And likewise a detective. I know more about you, Dad, than you think, she asserted, in an easy composed tone that seemed impossible to disturb. You need looking after, just at this juncture, and as I've been granted a vacation I ran up here to look after you. In what way, Nan? We'll talk that over later. There isn't much love lost between us, more's the pity. You've always thought more of your infernal cause than your daughter. But we're crags, both of us, and it's the crag custom to stand by the family. It struck him as curious that Ingwa had repeated almost those very words earlier that same evening. He had never taught them the crag motto, Stand Fast, that he could remember. Yet both Nan and her child were loyal to the code. Was he loyal, too? Had he stood by Nan in the past and Ingwa in the present, as a crag should do? His face was a bit haggard as he sat in his chair and faced his frank-spoken daughter, whose clear eyes did not waver before his questioning gaze. I know what you're thinking, said she, that I've never been much of a daughter to you. Well, neither have you been much of a father to me. Ever since I was born in my unknown mother, Lucky Soul, died, you've been obsessed by an idea which, lofty and altruistic as you might have considered it, has rendered you self-centred, cold and inconsiderate of your own flesh and blood. Then there's that devilish temper of yours to contend with. I couldn't stand the life here. I wandered away and goodness knows how I managed to live year after year in a struggle with the world, rather than endure your society and the hardships you thrust upon me. You've always had money, yet not a cent would you devote to your family. You lived like a dog and wanted me to do the same and I wouldn't. Finally I met a good man and married him. He wasn't rich, but he was generous. When he died I was thrown on my own resources again, with a child of my own to look after. Circumstances forced me to leave Ingle with you while I hunted for work. I found it. I'm a detective, well known and respected in my profession. I'm glad to know your prosperous, he said gently, as she paused. He made no excuses. He did not contradict her accusations. He waited to hear her out. So, said Nan, in a careless offhand tone, I've come here to save you. You're in trouble. I'm not aware of it. Very true. If you were, the danger would be less. I've always had to guess at most of your secret life. I knew you were sly and secretive. I didn't know until now that you've been crooked. He frowned a little, but made no retort. It doesn't surprise me, however, she continued. A good many folks are crooked at times, and the only wonder is that a clever man like you has tripped and allowed himself to fall under suspicion. Suspicion leads to investigation, when it's followed up, and investigation, in such cases, leads to jail. He gave a low growl that sounded like the cry of an enraged beast, and gripped the arms of his chair fiercely. Then he rose and paced the room with frantic energy. Nan watched him with half a smile on her face. When he had finally mastered his wrath and became more quiet, she said, Don't worry, Dad. I said I've come to save you. It will be fun after working for the government for so long to work against it. There's a certain red-headed imp in this neighborhood who is the daughter of our assistant chief, John O'Gorman. Her name is Josie O'Gorman, and she's in training for the same profession of which I'm an ornament. I won't sneer at her, for she's clever in a way, but I'd like to show O'Gorman that Nan Shelly—that's my name in Washington—is a little more clever than his pet. This Josie O'Gorman is staying with the Hathaway family. She's been probing your secret life in business enterprises, and has unearthed an important clue in which the department is bound to be interested. So she sent a code telegram to O'Gorman, who left it on his desk long enough for me to decipher and read it. I don't know what the assistant chief will do about it, for I left Washington an hour later and came straight to you. What I do know is that I'm in time to spite Miss Josie's guns, which will give me a great deal of pleasure. She doesn't know I'm your daughter any more than O'Gorman does, so if the girl sees me here she'll imagine I'm on government business. I want to keep out of her way for a time. Do you know the girl, Dad? Yes, he said. She's rather clever. Yes. I think she'd have nabbed you presently if I hadn't taken hold of the case so promptly myself. With our start and the exercise of a grain of intelligence we can baffle any opposition the girl can bring to bear. Do you wish to run away? No, he growled. I'm glad of that. I like the excitement of facing danger boldly. But there is ample time to talk over details. I see you've had your supper, so I'll just fry myself a beef steak. She opened her basket and began to prepare a meal. Old Swallow-Tale sat and watched her. Presently he smiled grimly and Nan never noticed the expression. Perhaps had she done so she would have demanded an explanation. He rarely smiled, and certainly his daughter's disclosures were not calculated to excite Murth, or even to amuse. End of Chapter 20. Read by Cibella Denton. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 21. A Case of Nerves. The hotel at the crossing was not an imposing affair. Indeed, had there not been an office in the front room, with a wooden desk in one corner, six chairs and two boxes of sawdust to service cuspidores, the building might easily have been mistaken for a private residence. But it stood on the corner opposite the store and had a worn and scarcely legible sign over the front door, calling it a hotel in capital letters. The hoppers who operated the establishment did an excellent business. On weekdays the farmers who came to town to trade made it a point to eat one of Silas Hopper's twenty-five cent dinners, famous for at least five miles around for profusion and good cookery. On Sundays and sometimes on other days, an automobile party, touring the country, would stop at the hotel for a meal, and Mrs. Hopper was accustomed to have a chicken dinner prepared every Sunday in the hope of attracting stray tourists. There were two guest rooms upstairs that were religiously reserved, in case some patron wished to stay overnight. But these instances were rare, unless a drummer missed his train and couldn't get away from the crossing until the next day. The Sunday following the arrival of Ingoa's mother in town proved a dull day with the hoppers, who had been compelled to eat their chicken dinner themselves in default of customers. The dishes had been washed, and Marianne, the daughter of the house, was sitting on the front porch in her Sunday gown and a rocking chair, when an automobile drove up to the door and a dapper little man alighted. He was very elaborately dressed, with a silk hat, patent leather shoes and a cane setting off his Prince Albert coat and lavender striped trousers. Across his white waistcoat was a heavy gold watchguard, with an enormous locket dangling from it. He had a sparkling pin in his checkered neck scarf that might be set with diamonds, but perhaps wasn't. On his fingers gleamed two or three elaborate rings. He had curly blonde hair and a blonde moustache, and he wore gold rimmed eyeglasses. All together the little man was quite a dandy and radiated prosperity. So when the driver of the automobile handed out two heavy suitcases and received from the stranger a crisp bill for his services, Marianne Hopper realized with exultation that the hotel was to have a guest. As the car which had brought him rolled away the little man turned, observed Marianne and, removing his silk hat, bowed low. I presume, he said in precise accents, that this town is that of Cragg's Crossing and that this building is the hotel. Am I correct in the surmise? I'll call Pa, said Marianne, somewhat embarrassed. Drummers she could greet with unconcern, but this important individual was a man of a different sort. His brilliant personality dazzled her. Mr. Hopper came out in his shirt-sleeves, gave one look at his customer and put on his coat. Go on to stay, sir, he asked. For a time, if I like the accommodations, was the reply. I am in need of perfect quiet. My doctor says I must court tranquility to avoid a nervous breakdown. I do not know your town. I do not know your hotel. I hired a man in the city to drive me until I came to a quiet place. He assured me, on the way, that this is a quiet place. I didn't know him, said Hopper, but he didn't put up no bluff. If you can find a quieter place near this outside a graveyard, I'll board you for nothing. I thank you for your assurance, sir. Can you show me to the best room you can place at my disposal? Had dinner? I thank you, yes. I am weary from the long ride. I will lie down for an hour. Then I will take my usual walk. When I return I would like an omelet with mushrooms. I suppose you have no troubles for my evening meal. The landlord grinned and picked up the suitcases. We're just out of truffles and we're out of mushrooms, he said, but we're long on eggs and you can have a mom-lidded or fried or boiled as it suits your fancy. Sophie's best hold is cooking eggs. Sophie's my wife, you know, and there ain't no better cook in seven counties, so the drummers say. As he spoke he entered the house and led the way up the stairs. Thank you, thank you, said the stranger. I'm glad your wife is an experienced cook. Kindly ask her to spare no expense in preparing my meals. I am willing to pay liberally for what I receive. This room with board, remarked topper, setting down the suitcases in the front corner bed-chamber, will cost you a dollar a day or five dollars a week. If you eat our regular meals. If you keep calling for X-trees I'll have to charge you X-trees. Very reasonable, very reasonable indeed, declared the stranger, taking a roll of bills from his pocket. As I am at present unknown to you I beg you to accept this five dollar bill in advance. And now, if you will bring me a pitcher of ice water, I will take my needed siesta. My nerves, as you may have observed, are at somewhat of a tension to-day. We're out of ice, remarked the landlord pocketing the money, but you'll find plenty of good cold water at the pump in the backyard. Anything else, sir? I think you know. I'm not thirsty. Ice water is not necessary to my happiness. You will pardon me if I ask to be left alone with my nerves. Hopper went away chuckling. His wife and Marianne were both at the foot of the stairs, lying in wait to question him. That fellers as good as a circus, he asserted, taking off his coat again and lighting his corn cob pipe. He's got nerves and money, and he's come here to get rid of them both. Who is he? demanded Mrs. Hopper. By gum I forgot to ask him. I got thanked for everything I couldn't do, and I've got five dollars of his money in my jeans as evidence of good faith. The whole performance sort of knocked me out. No wonder, asserted his wife sympathetically. I bet he's some pumpkins, though, declared Marianne, and he'll be a godsend to us after a dull week. Only remember this, if he kicks on the feed, he don't get no satisfaction out of me. I don't think he'll kick on anything, said her father. He wants eggs for his supper and an omelet. He couldn't want anything that's cheaper to make, said Mrs. Hopper. The hens are laying fine just now. When he comes down, make him register, suggested Marianne. If you don't, we won't know what to call him. I'll call him an easy mark, whatever his name is, said the landlord, grinning at his own attempt at wit. The stranger kept to his room until five o'clock. Then he came down, spick and span, his cane under his arm, upon his hands a pair of bright yellow kid-gloves. I will now indulge in my walk, said he, addressing the family group in the office. My nerves are better, but still vibrant. I shall be further restored on my return. Just sign the register, proposed Hopper, pointing to a worn and soiled book spread upon the counter. Hate to trouble you, but it's one of the rules of my hotel. No trouble, thank you. No trouble at all, responded the stranger. And drawing a fountain pen from his pocket he approached the register and wrote upon the blank page. I hope there is nothing to see in your town, he remarked, turning away. I don't wish to see anything. I merely desire to walk. Your wish will come true, I guess, said Hopper. I've lived here over twenty years, and I ain't seen nothing yet. But the walkin' is as good as it is anywhere. Thank you. I shall return at six o'clock for the omelet. And he walked away with short, mincing steps that seemed to them all very comical. Three heads at once bent over the register, on which the stranger had written in clear, deliberate characters, Lisander Antonius Sinclair, B. N., from Boston, Massachusetts. I wonder what the B. N. stands for, said Mary Ann Hopper curiously. Bum nerves, of course, replied the landlord. He's got him, sure enough. End of CHAPTER XXI. of Mary Louise and the Country by L. Frank Baum. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. CHAPTER XXII. Ingwa's Mother. And how do you like your grandfather? Is he good to you? Asked Mrs. Scammill on Sunday, four noon, as she sat on the porch beside her small daughter. Old Swallow-Tale did not usually go to his office on Sundays. But kept his room at the cottage and wrote letters. Today, however, he had wandered down the path and disappeared. And Nan and Ingwa were both glad to see him go. No, answered the child to both questions. You don't like him? How can I, when he just sets and glares at me every time he comes into the house, except when he complains I ain't doing my work proper? It were a sort of mean trick of your own, Mom. Leave me here to slay for that old man while you was off in the cities having a good time. Yes, said Nan. I was frolicking with starvation until I got a job, and it was the sort of job that wouldn't allow having a child around. But since I've been making money I've sent Dad five dollars every week for your clothes and board. You have? Every week. Ten cents a week would pay for all the grubby gizmy, and there ain't a beggar in the county that sports the rag and tatters I does. That new dress I had on last night was the first thing in clothes he's bought me for a year, and I guess I wouldn't have had that if Mary Louise hadn't told him he ought to dress me more decent. Nan's brow grew dark. I'll have it out with him for that, she promised. What does he do with his money, Ingoa? Salt, said I guess. I've never seen him have any. It's one of the mysteries, Mom. Mysteries is thick around Grandad and folks' suspicion most anything about him. All I know is that he ain't no spin-thrift. Once when Ned Jocelyn used to come here there was lots of money passed between him. I sought myself. I helped pick it up once to when they quarreled and upset the table and spilled things, but since Ned won away Grandad's been more saving than ever. Ingoa, said Nan thoughtfully, I want you to tell me all you know about Ned Jocelyn from the time he first came here. Ingoa regarded her mother with serious eyes. All, she inquired, everything little abrig that you can recollect. You'll stick to Grandad, won't you? That's what I'm here for. There are enemies on his trail and I mean to save him. What's he done? I've got to find that out. When I was here before I knew he had some secret interest to which he was devoted, but I was too indifferent to find out what it was. Now I want to know. If I'm going to save him from the penalties of his crime I must know what the crime is. I think this man Jocelyn is mixed up with it in some way, so go ahead and tell me all you know about him. Ingoa bade. For more than an hour she earnestly related the story of Ned Jocelyn, only pausing to answer an occasional question from her mother. When she came to that final meeting at Christmas week and Jocelyn's mysterious disappearance, Nan asked, do you think he killed him? I was pretty sure of it till yesterday when Josie told me a friend of hers had seen him alive and well. Josie, oh, Gorman? No, Josie Jessup. She's the sewing girl over to Mary Louise's. I know, but that girl has more names than one. Do you know her very well, Ingoa? She's my best chum, declared the child. She's a dandy girl and I like her. Have you told her anything about your grandad? A little, Ingoa admitted, hesitating. See here, said Nan Scowling, I'll put you wise. This red-headed Josie O'Gorman is a detective. She's the daughter of the man I work for in Washington, the assistant chief of the department, and she is here to try to land your grandad in jail. What's more, Ingoa, she's likely to do it, unless you and I find a way to head her off. Ingoa's face depicted astonishment, grief, and disappointment. She said, Grandad didn't murder Ned, for Josie herself told me so. So I can't see what he's done to go to jail for. He has counterfeited money, said Nan in a low voice. Grandad has? So they say, and I believe it may be true. Josie has wired her father that she's got the goods on old Swallowtail, and has asked that somebody be sent to arrest him. I saw the telegram and made up my mind I'd get the start of the O'Gormans. Dad won't run away. I've warned him they are on his trail and he didn't make any reply. But I wouldn't be surprised if he's gone this very day to cover up his traces. He's broad enough to know that if he destroys all evidence they can't prove anything against him. She spoke musingly, more to herself than the child beside her. But Ingoa drew a deep sign, remarked. Then it's all right. Grandad is slick. They'll have to get up early in the morning to beat him at his own game. But I wonder what he does with the counterfeit money, or the real money he trades it for. I think I know, said her mother. He's chucked a fortune into one crazy idea, in which his life has been bound up ever since I can remember, and I suppose he tried counterfeiting to get more money to chuck away in the same foolish manner. What crazy idea is that? inquired Ingoa. I'll tell you some time. Just now I see your friend Josie coming and that's a bit of good luck. I'm anxious to meet her, but if she sees me first she won't come in. As she spoke she rose swiftly and disappeared into the house. Stay where you are, Ingoa. She called from within in a low voice. I don't want her to escape. Josie was even now making her way across the stepping-stones. Presently she ran up the bank, smiling, and plumped down beside Ingoa. Top of the morning to you, she said. How did you enjoy your first evening in society? They were all very good to me, replied Ingoa slowly, looking at her friend with troubled eyes. I had a nice time, but— You were a little shy, said Josie, but that was only natural. When you get better acquainted with Mary Louise and the dear old Colonel you'll— She stopped abruptly, for looking up she saw standing in the doorway Nan Shelly, by which name she knew her, who was calmly regarding her. The shock of surprise, for shock it surely was, seemed brief, for almost instantly Josie completed her broken speech. When you know them better you'll feel quite at home in their society. Hello, Nan. What? Josie O'Gorman, you here—with well-affected surprise. You know it. But how came you here, Nan? His daddy sent you to help me. Help you in what way? Help me enjoy country life, said Josie, colouring at her slip. Why, I'm on a vacation. You don't seem to understand. I'm Ingoa's mother. Josie's self-control wasn't proof against this second shock. Her blue eyes stared amazed. With a low exclamation she stood up and faced the woman. Ingoa's mother—you, Nan! Just so, with a quiet smile, then you ought to be ashamed of yourself, declared Josie with righteous indignation. You're one of the best-paid women in the department, and you've left your poor child here to starve and slave for a wretched old—' She paused. Well, what is he? Asked Nan with tantalising gentleness. An old skin-flint at the least. Shame on you, Nan! Ingoa's a dear little girl, and you—you're an unnatural mother. Why, I never suspected you were even married. I'm a widow, Josie. An old swallow-tail is your father. How strange! But why did you come here just now? With sudden suspicion. I've just finished the Hillyard case, and they gave me a vacation. So I came here to see my little girl. I didn't know she was being neglected, Josie. I shall take better care of her after this. My visit to Crags Crossing is perfectly natural, for I was born here. But you—what are you up to, Josie? I'm visiting Mary Louise Burroughs. With what object? A detective must be quick-witted. Josie's brain was working with lightning-like rapidity. In a few brief seconds she comprehended that if Nan was old swallow-tail's daughter, home on a vacation, she must not be allowed to know that Josie was conducting a case against her father. Otherwise, she might interfere and spoil everything. She knew Nan of old and respected her keen intelligence. Once when they had been pitted against each other, Josie had won, but she was not sure she could defeat Nan a second time. Therefore it was imperative that old Crags' daughter remain in ignorance of the fact that Josie was awaiting reinforcements from Washington in order to arrest Nan's father as a counter-fitter. Also, Josie realized instantly that Ingle was likely to tell her mother all she knew about Joslyn, including the story she had told Josie. So without hesitation she answered Nan's question with apparent frankness. Really, Nan, I came here on a wild goose chase. A man named Ned Joslyn had mysteriously disappeared, and his wife feared he had met with foul play. I traced him to this place, and as Colonel Hathaway and Mary Louise were living here, in Mrs. Joslyn's own house, by the way, I had myself invited as their guest. While the long and short of it is that Joslyn isn't murdered after all, he simply skipped, and since I came here to worry my poor brain over the fellow he has been discovered, still in hiding, but very much alive. You suspected my father of killing him? I did, and so did others, but it seems he didn't. But even with that precious bubble burst, Mary Louise insist on my staying for a while, so here I am, and your little girl has become my friend. Ingle knew this story to be quite correct, as far as it regarded her grandfather in Ned Joslyn. Its straightforward relation renewed her confidence in Josie. But Nan knew more than Josie thought she did, having intercepted the girl's telegram to her father, so she said, with a slight sneer, which she took no pains to conceal, You're a clever girl, Josie, O'Gorman, a mighty clever girl. You're so clever that I wouldn't be surprised if it tripped you some day and landed you on your pug nose. Which proved that Nan was not clever, for Josie's indulgent smile masked the thought, she knows all and is here to defend her father. I must look out for Nan, for she has a notion I'm still on the track of Hezekiah Crag.