At the bottom
I fetched up against an odd-looking little hut almost overgrown with
bushes. It was bright moonlight and the door was open.

"Inside was a fire, and by its light I could see that the place was
empty of human life, but that a collection of objects already familiar
to me almost filled it.

"It was an illicit still!

"Clearly enough, also, it was operated by my hosts up above.

"I listened for sounds of pursuit, but heard none. Possibly they had not
yet crept into my room to perform their horrible resolve.

"Suddenly the silence was broken by appalling yells and screams. My hair
bristled for an instant and then I burst into a laugh.

"It was a pig that I heard. At the same instant it dawned on me that it
was the pig that they had been discussing dispatching and not me at all.
You can imagine the revulsion of my feelings. But I felt sore at the
scare they had given me, so I decided to do some work for the government
and even up scores at the same time.

"Entering the shack, I scattered the coals of the fire right and left.
Then I came away. No, I did _not_ go back to the cabin. It would, as
your friend Jeb said, not have been healthy for me.

"Instead I set off running at top speed through the woods. Before long I
saw a glow on the sky behind me, and knew that flames were devouring the
vile stuff that moonshiners make.

"I left my pack behind me, however, and I hope that compensated them for
the loss of their still. I'm sure the woman, at any rate, would value
its contents more highly."

They all burst into a laugh at the conclusion of Mr. Parker's odd story.
They were still laughing when Mandy rushed out on the porch.

"Miss Wren done be gone!" she shouted.

"Gone!" they all echoed, in dismayed tones.

"Yes. I done go to her room to see de poo' lamb is com'foble, and she
not there. I done find dis writin', too."

"Let me look at it," demanded Mr. Parker.

"It mighty hard to read. It sure is a scan-lous bit of writin'."

With this comment the colored woman handed over to her master a bit of
dirty wrapping paper.

On it was scrawled in almost illegible characters:

"U wont git hur agin.--The Romanys."

"The Romanys!" exclaimed Peggy.

"Yes; that's the gipsy word for themselves," said Mr. Parker. "I'm
afraid that the same band that had her before has stolen her again."

"What are we to do?" wailed Bess.

"Hush!" said Jess; "let Mr. Parker decide what is best."

They stood about with