er assertion was
correct.

"Yes." Rosebud's anger was like all her moods, swift rising and as swift
to pass. Now it was approaching its zenith. "And to show you how good
Wanaha is, look at this." She unfolded her parcel and threw the paper
down, disclosing the perfect moccasins the Indian had made for her.
"Aren't they lovely? She didn't forget it was my birthday,
like--like----"

"Ah, so it is." Seth spoke as though he had just realized the fact of her
birthday.

"Aren't they lovely?" reiterated the girl. Her anger had passed. She was
all smiles again.

"Indian," said Seth, with a curious click of the tongue, which Rosebud was
quick to interpret into an expression of scorn.

"Yes," she exclaimed, firing up again, and her eyes sparkling. "And I like
Indian things, and I like Indian people, and I like Little Black Fox. He's
nice, and isn't always sneering. And I shall see them all when I like.
And--and you can do the hoeing yourself."

She walked off toward the house without the least regard for the potatoes,
which now suffered indiscriminately. Her golden head was held very high,
but she had less dignity than she thought, for she stumbled in the furrows
as she went.

She went straight into the house and up to her room; but she could not
fling herself upon her bed and cry, as she probably intended to do. Three
large parcels occupied its entire narrow limits. Each was addressed to
her, wishing her all happiness on her birthday, and the biggest of the
three was from Seth. So, failing room anywhere else, she sat in her
rocking-chair, and, instead of an angry outburst, she shed a few quiet,
happy tears.

Meanwhile Seth continued his work as though nothing had interrupted him.
It was not until supper-time, and he was making his way to the house, that
he happened to observe the newspaper which Rosebud had left lying among
the potatoes. He stepped across the intervening furrows and picked it up.
Newspapers always interested him, he saw so few.

This one, he saw at once, was an English paper. And from London at that.
He glanced at the date, and saw that was nearly a month old, and, at the
same time, he saw that it was addressed to Nevil Steyne, and beside the
address was a note in blue pencil, "Page 3."

His curiosity was aroused, and he turned over to the page indicated. There
was a long paragraph marked by four blue crosses. It was headed--

"The Estate of the Missing Colonel Raynor."

Seth read the first few l