that would
hasten them and you would be under shelter. I can turn the canoe over me
and be dry as a mouse in a hayrick. I'll not go with you, not I. Do your
own part, with them looking on as will enjoy it."

"I believe you are--jealous, Jerry-Jo." This was said idly and more to
fill in an awkward pause than for anything else.

"And much good that would do me, after what you've just said. If you're
bound for the devil, Priscilla, 'tis little power I have to stay you."

"I'm not--for the devil!" Priscilla flung back, and started sturdily up
the hill path toward the house hidden among the trees.

Out of McAlpin's sight, the girl went more slowly, while she sought to
arrange her mode of attack. If her host were what he once was, he would
make everything easy after she recalled herself to him. As for the
mother, Priscilla had only a dim memory of her, but something told her
that the call would be a happy and memorable one after the first moment.

A bit of tune cheered the girl; a repeating of the Road Song helped even
more, for it resurrected most vividly the young fellow who had introduced
music and happiness into her life.

"I'll be doshed!" she cried. The word had not passed her lips for years;
it brought a laugh and a complete restoration of poise. So she reached
the house. Smoke was issuing from the chimney. A fire had been made even
on this hot day, but like enough it was to dry the place after the years
of closed doors and windows. Evidently it was a many-houred fire, for the
plume of smoke was faint and steady. The broad door was set wide but the
windows were still boarded up at the front of the house, though the side
ones had escaped that protection.

Priscilla knocked and waited. No reply or sound came in response, and
presently a low muttering of distant thunder broke.

"That will bring them in short order," she said, "and surely they will
not object if I make myself comfortable until they come."

She went inside. The room had the appearance of one from which the owner
had long been absent, that unaccountable, vacant look, although a
work-bag hung on the back of a chair by the roaring fire, and a blot of
oil lay on the table near the lamp which had evidently been recently
filled. Back of these tokens lay a wide sense of desolation.

For a moment Priscilla hesitated before sitting down; her courage failed,
but a second thought reconciled conditions with a brief stay after long
absence, and she decided to