notoriously involving danger
to the simple country girl, yet not even her mother frowned upon it.

The mother, indeed, frankly urged the child to let all of these kind
gentlemen make a lady of her. The brother should have warned her in this
extremity; but the brother was not permitted any share in these scenes.
Only Merton Gill, in his proper person, seemed to feel the little girl
was all too cordially inviting trouble.

He became confused, ultimately, by reason of the scenes not being taken
consecutively. It appeared that the little sister actually left her
humble home at the insistence of one of the villains, yet she did not,
apparently, creep back months later broken in body and soul. As nearly
as he could gather, she was back the next day. And it almost seemed as
if later, at brief intervals, she allowed herself to start for the great
city with each of the other three scoundrels who were bent upon her
destruction. But always she appeared to return safely and to bring large
sums of money with which to delight the old mother.

It was puzzling to Merton. He decided at last--he did not like to ask
the Montague girl--that Baird had tried the same scene four times, and
would choose the best of these for his drama.

Brother and sister made further trips to the hotel with their offerings,
only the sister now took jams and jellies exclusively, which she sold
to the male guests, while the brother took only the improved grape juice
which the rich old New Yorker bought and generously paid for.

There were other scenes at the hotel between the country boy and the
heavy-faced New York society girl, in which the latter was an ardent
wooer. Once she was made to snatch a kiss from him as he stood by her,
his basket on his arm. He struggled in her embrace, then turned to flee.

She was shown looking after him, laughing, carelessly slapping one leg
with her riding crop.

"You're still timid," Baird told him. "You can hardly believe you have
won her love."

In some following scenes at the little farmhouse it became impossible
for him longer to doubt this, for the girl frankly told her love as she
lingered with him at the gate.

"She's one of these new women," said Baird. "She's living her own life.
You listen--it's wonderful that this great love should have come to you.
Let us see the great joy dawning in your eyes."

He endeavoured to show this. The New York girl became more ardent. She
put an arm about him, drew him to her