ut of it he can't do noth'n' but growl--
an' growlin' don't hurt any."

Mary Louise was greatly distressed. This reckless disregard of property
rights was of course the direct result of the child's environment, but
must be corrected. Ingua resented direct chiding and it was necessary
to point out to her the wickedness of stealing in the gentlest possible
manner.

"How much money have you taken from your grandfather?" she asked.

"Oh, not much. A nickel, now an' then. He wouldn't stan' for losin' any
more, ye see. P'r'aps, altogether, I've swiped twenty-five cents. But
once Ned Joselyn give me a dollar, an' Ol' Swallertail knowed it, an'
made me give it to him to save for me. That were the last I ever saw o'
that dollar, Mary Louise, so I ain't even with Gran'dad yet."

"Do you think," remarked Mary Louise, "there is ever any excuse for
stealing?"

The girl stared at her, coloring slightly.

"Do ye mean Gran'dad, er _me?_"

"I mean you. He didn't steal your dollar, dear; he merely took it so
you wouldn't spend it foolishly."

"An' I merely took them nickels so's I could, spend 'em foolish.
There's no fun in spendin' money, seems to me, unless you squander it
reckless. That's what I done with them nickels. Candy an' chewin' gum
tastes better when you know it's swiped."

Mary Louise sighed. It was so hard to show little Ingua the error of
her ways.

"As fer stealin'--out an' out _stealin',"_ continued the girl, with a
proud toss of her head, "we Craggs ain't never took noth'n' that don't
belong to us from nobody. What a Cragg takes from a Cragg is a Cragg's
business, an' when we takes someth'n' from somebody else I'll ask ye to
tell me 'bout it."

"Where are you going, Ingua?"

"Home."

"You're not offended, I hope."

"No, but I got work to do. I ain't done my breakfas' dishes yet."

Mary Louise musingly watched the girl cross the river. On the opposite
bank she turned to wave her hand and then ran into the cottage. Ingua's
code of honor was a peculiar one. Her pride in the Craggs seemed
unaccountable, considering she and her grandfather were the only two of
the family in existence--except that wandering mother of hers.

But the recent conversation had uncovered a new phase of the mystery.
Old Swallowtail was nervous over something; he could not sleep at
night, but roamed the roads while others with clear consciences
slumbered. There must be some powerful reason to account for the old
man's deserting