allery or sitting down on
the bayou levee--after she had chased him away--pitching pebbles into
the water. He told all of them that it was his vacation, the first one
he had had in five years, and that he was going to make the most of it.
Companioned by Creighton, he usually enlarged the family circle in the
evenings. And the tales he could tell about the far corners of the earth
were as wildly romantic as Rupert's--though he did assure his listeners
that even Tibet was very tame and well behaved nowadays.

Charity had finished the first illustration and had started another.
This time Ricky and Val appeared polished and combed as if they had just
stepped out of a ball-room of a governor's palace--which they had,
according to the story. It was during her second morning's work upon
this that she threw down her brush with a snort of disgust.

"It's no use," she told her models, "I simply can't work on this now.
All I can see is that scene where the hero's mulatto half-brother
watches the ball from the underbrush. I've got to do that one first."

"Why don't you then?" Ricky stretched to relieve cramped muscles.

"I would if I could get Jeems. He's my model for the brother. He's
enough like you, Val, for the resemblance, and his darker tan is just
right for color. But he won't come back while Creighton's here. I could
wring that man's neck!"

"But Creighton left for Milneburg this morning," Val reminded her.
"Rupert told him about the old voodoo rites which used to be celebrated
there on June 24th, St. John's Eve, and he wanted to see if there were
any records--"

"Yes. But Jeems doesn't know he's gone. If we could only get in touch
with him--Jeems, I mean."

"Miss 'Chanda!"

Sam Two, as they had come to call Sam's eldest son and heir, was
standing on the lowest step of the terrace, holding a small covered
basket in his hands.

"Yes?"

"Letty-Lou done say dis am fo' yo'all, Miss 'Chanda."

"For me?" Ricky looked at the offering in surprise. "But what in the
world--Bring it here, Sam."

"Yas'm."

He laid the basket in Ricky's outstretched hands.

"I've never seen anything like this before." She turned it around. "It
seems to be woven of some awfully fine grass--"

"That's swamp work." Charity was peering over Ricky's shoulder. "Open
it."

Inside on a nest of raw wild cotton lay a bracelet of polished wood
carved with an odd design of curling lines which reminded Val of Spanish
moss. And with the circlet