trength, and had to watch him drop down
upon the bank, tear apart the two halves of the cover, and explore the
contents.

She made one effort to rescue Susanna's good things from this "thief,"
as she now knew him to be, but he flung her hands aside so rudely he
hurt them; and when she cried to him: "You mustn't! You must not touch
those things, they aren't mine!" he did not notice her.

Already one pumpkin pie was half-devoured. Uncooked food from the fields
may, indeed, prevent starvation, but here was luxury. If "the proof of
the pudding is in the eating," Susanna Sprigg should have been highly
flattered. Katharine had never seen anybody eat as this man did. Before
she could say, "Well, you sha'n't have the basket, even if you do steal
the things from it!" the first pie had wholly gone. He tried a little
variety: broke the brown loaf in two, and, unrolling the pat of butter,
generously smeared it, using his dirty hands for knife.

[Illustration: "ALREADY ONE PUMPKIN PIE WAS HALF-DEVOURED"]

This was wretchedly disgusting but--fascinating. It reminded the young
Baltimorean of feeding-time at the Zoo. She also dropped upon the sward
to watch, and to recover her basket when he should have done with its
contents.

He left none of them. The honey followed the bread and butter, and the
jell-roll followed the honey. Then he returned to his first delight and
finished the second pie. By this time satiety. Full fed and rested he
crawled back among the alders and lay down to sleep. Crawled so far and
so deep among them that even the watching girl could scarcely see him.

But she had no desire left for further observation. He had proved
himself a harmless bugaboo, and she would not be afraid of him, meet him
where she might--so she felt then.

Yet there remained some ugly facts to be dealt with. One, the empty
cupboard at the Mansion, always so faithfully replenished for the
Sabbath by the untiring care of Aunt Eunice. One, the cherished rod that
had snapped asunder as she forced it from the tramp's grasp. And
one--the well-deserved anger of the Widow Susanna Sprigg.

She gathered what comfort she could, hoping against hope that for once
Madam Sturtevant had made provision for her own Sabbath feasts; and
that, though the rod might be broken, and because of its association not
to be replaced, she could buy another even better. She had ten dollars
of her own, her very own. It was as yet unbroken even if in her
intention sh