n't be Jack Bray!"

"This chap seems to be rather in earnest, doesn't he? _Pronto!_ That
means haste."

"But it's only a joke. It must be," cried Beth.

Peter loosened the knife, took the placard down and turned it over,
examining it critically.

"I wonder." And then, thoughtfully, "No, I don't believe it is. It's
addressed to McGuire. I'm going to take it to him."

"Mike McGuire," corrected Beth. And then, "But it really does look
queer."

"It does," assented Peter; "it appears to me as if this message must
have come from the person McGuire saw last night."

Beth looked bewildered.

"But what has Aunt Tillie got to do with--with Hawk? She never knew
anybody of that name."

"Probably not. It isn't a real name, of course."

"Then why should it frighten Mr. McGuire?" she asked logically.

Peter shook his head. All the props had fallen from under his theories.

"Whether it's real to McGuire or not is what I want to know. And I'm
going to find out," he finished.

When they reached a path which cut through the trees toward the creek,
Beth stopped, and held out her hand.

"I'm not goin' up to the house with you and I don't think I'll see Aunt
Tillie just now," she said. "Good-by, Mr.----"

"Peter----," he put in.

"Good-by, Mr. Peter."

"Just Peter----" he insisted.

"Good-by, Mr. Just Peter. Thanks for the playin'. Will you let me come
again?"

"Yes. And I'm going to get you some music----"

"Singin' music?" she gasped.

He nodded.

"And you'll let me know if I can help--Aunt Tillie or you?"

She bobbed her head and was gone.

Peter stood for a while watching the path down which she had
disappeared, wondering at her abrupt departure, which for the moment
drove from his mind all thought of McGuire's troubles. It was difficult
to associate Beth with the idea of prudery or affectation. Her visit
proved that. She had come to the Cabin because she had wanted to hear
him play, because she had wanted to sing for him, because too his
promises had excited her curiosity about him, and inspired a hope of his
assistance. But the visit had flattered Peter. He wasn't inured to this
sort of frankness. It was perhaps the greatest single gift of tribute
and confidence that had ever been paid him--at least by a woman. A visit
of this sort from a person like Anastasie Galitzin or indeed from almost
any woman in the world of forms and precedents in which he had lived
would have been equivalent to unconditional s