ornings to pose for my picture of the swamp hunter. Do you
know," she hesitated, "I think that you would find a real friend in
Jeems if you could overcome his hatred of plantation people. You would
gain as much as he from such an association. He can tell you things
about the swamp--stories which go back to the old pirate days.
Perhaps--"

Ricky looked up from the uncompleted picture. "I think he'd be nice to
know. But why does he look so--so sort of starved?"

"Probably because the bill of fare in a swamp cabin is not as varied as
it might be," answered Charity Biglow. "But you can't offer him
anything, of course. I don't even know where he lives. And now, tell me
about yourselves. Are you planning to live here?"

Her frank interest seemed perfectly natural. One simply couldn't resent
Charity Biglow.

"Well," Ricky laughed ruefully, "we can't very well live anywhere else.
I think Rupert still has ten dollars--"

"After his expedition this morning, I would have my doubts of that," Val
cut in. "You see, Miss Biglow, we are back to the soil now."

"Charity is the name," she corrected him. "So you're down--"

"But not out!" Ricky hastened to assure her. "But we might be that." And
then and there she told their tenant of the rival claimant.

Charity listened closely, absent-mindedly sucking the wooden shaft of
one of her brushes. When Ricky had done, she nodded.

"Nice mess you've dropped into. But I think that your lawyer has the
right idea. This is a neat piece of blackmail and your claimant will
disappear into thin air if you have a few concrete facts to face him
down with. Are you sure you've looked through all the family papers? No
hiding-places or safes--"

"One," said Ricky calmly, "but we don't know where that is. In the Civil
War days, after General Butler took over New Orleans, some family
possessions were hidden somewhere in the Long Hall, but we don't know
where. The secret was lost when Richard Ralestone was shot by Yankee
raiders."

"Is he the ghost?" asked Charity.

"No. You ask that as if you know something," Val observed.

"Nothing but talk. There have been lights seen, white ones. And a while
back my maid Rose left because she saw something in the garden one
night."

"Jeems, probably," the boy commented. "He seems to like the place."

"No, not Jeems. He was sitting right on that railing when we both heard
Rose scream."

"Val, the handkerchief!" Ricky's hand arose to her buttoned pocket.