vious that he could not send her back to the
Hess farm nor hand her over to the authorities. His own appearance would
not be conducive to confidence in his assurances if he attempted to
leave her in the care of some country woman until he could return and
make proper arrangements for her, and the only alternative was that she
must tramp the roads by herself until she found work, and that was out
of the question.

At least, he could protect her, and she looked wiry in spite of her
skinniness; it was as possible that she might make the distance as he,
with his aching back. But on one point he was determined: when they
neared the suburbs of New York he would telephone to a certain
gray-haired, aristocratically high-nosed old lady and persuade her to
send out her car for this waif.

The child had been kind to him, and he would protect her from all harm,
but not for all the gilt-edged securities in Wall Street would he have
the story of his knight-errantry get abroad, nor the unprepossessing
heroine of it revealed to his friends.

The old lady would find some suitable position for her, and, as she
evidently possessed no reputation of any sort at the moment, a six-day
journey in his company could harm it no more if the truth became known
than if she had tramped upon her way alone.

"All right," he said. "We'll be partners, and I'll do my best to look
out for you."

She laughed outright, a merry, tinkling little laugh like the brook
rippling over the pebbles at her feet, and the man involuntarily stared.
It was the sole attractive thing about her that he had observed.

"Reckon it'll be me that'll look after you!" she retorted. "Oh, there's
somethin' comin'! Duck in here, quick!"

Seizing her bundle, she wiggled like an eel through the willow thicket
until she was completely hidden from view, and Botts followed as well as
he was able, with one hand fending off the supple young shoots from
whipping back upon his wounded forehead.

He had heard nothing, yet the girl's quick ears had caught the faint
creaking of a cart along the road, and now a cheerful but somewhat
shrill whistle came to him in a vaguely reminiscent strain.

"That's Lem Mattles," Lou whispered as she reached behind him and drew
the willows yet more screeningly about their trail. "He's whistlin'
'Ida-Ho'; it's the only tune he can remember."

"Who is he?" demanded her companion.

"The Hess's next-door neighbor. She'll stop him right away an' ask if
h