of
her little girl. Ingua's frank speech had also disturbed Mary Louise,
and made her sorry for both the child and her mother. Old Swallowtail's
eyes lingered a moment on Ingua's ingenuous countenance but he
exhibited no emotion whatever.

"You're a simple little innocent," remarked Nan to Ingua, after a
strained pause. "You know so little of the world that your judgment is
wholly unformed. I've a notion to take you to Washington and buy you a
nice outfit of clothes--like those of Mary Louise, you know--and put
you into a first-class girls' boarding-school. Then you'll get
civilized, and perhaps amount to something."

"I'd like that," said Ingua, with a first display of enthusiasm; "but
who'd look after Gran'dad?"

"Why, we must provide for Dad in some way, of course," admitted Nan
after another pause. "I can afford to hire a woman to keep house for
him, if I hold my present job. I suppose he has a hoard of money hidden
somewhere, but that's no reason he wouldn't neglect himself and starve
if left alone. And, if he's really poor, I'm the one to help him. How
does that arrangement strike you, Ingua?"

"It sounds fine," replied the girl, "but any woman that'd come _here_
to work, an' would stan' Gran'dad's devils, wouldn't amount to much,
nohow. If we're goin' to move to the city," she added with a sigh,
"let's take Gran'dad with us."

This conversation was becoming too personal for Mary Louise to endure
longer. They talked of Mr. Cragg just as if he were not present,
ignoring him as he ignored them. With an embarrassed air Mary Louise
rose.

"I must go now," said she. "I just ran over to welcome you, Mrs.
Scammel, and to ask you and Ingua to dine with us to-morrow night. Will
you come? Josie O'Gorman is with us, you know, and I believe you are
old friends."

Nan hesitated a moment.

"Thank you," she replied, "we'll be glad to come. You've been mighty
good to my little girl and I am grateful. Please give my regards to
Colonel Hathaway."

When Mary Louise had gone the three lapsed into silence again. Ingua
was considering, in her childish but practical way, the proposed
changes in her life. The mother was trying to conquer her annoyance at
the child's lack of filial affection, tacitly admitting that the blame
was not Ingua's. The old man stared at the path. Whatever his thoughts
might be he displayed no hint of their nature.

Presently there appeared at the head of the path, by the bridge, the
form of a stra