ng ago
that nothing can be kept from Ricky. Sooner or later one spills out his
secrets."

"Except Rupert!" Ricky aired her old grievance.

"Perhaps Rupert," her brother agreed.

"Anyway, I do know where Jeems lives. Do you want me to get him for you,
Charity?"

"Certainly not, child! Do you think that I'd let you go into the swamp?
Why, even men who know something of woodcraft think twice before
attempting such a trip without a guide. Of course you're not going! I
think," she put her paint-stained hand to her head, "that I'm going to
have one of my sick headaches. I'll have to go home and lie down for an
hour or two."

"I'm sorry." Ricky's sympathy was quick and warm. "Is there anything I
can do?"

Charity shook her head with a rueful smile. "Time is the only medicine
for one of these. I'll see you later."

"Just the same," Ricky stood looking after her, "I'd like to know just
what is going on in the swamp right now."

"Why?" Val asked lightly.

"Because--well, just because," was her provoking answer. "Jeems was so
odd yesterday. He talked as if--as if there were some threat to us or
him. I wonder if there is something wrong." She frowned.

"Of course not!" her brother made prompt answer. "He's merely gone off
on one of those mysterious trips of his."

"Just the same, what if there were something wrong? We might go and
see."

"Nonsense!" Val snapped. "You heard what Charity said about going into
the swamp alone. And there is nothing to worry about anyway. Come on,
let's change. And then I have something to show you."

"What?" she demanded.

"Wait and see." His ruse had succeeded. She was no longer looking
swampward with that gleam of purpose in her eye.

"Come on then," she said, prodding him into action.

Val changed slowly. If one didn't care about mucking around in the
garden, as Ricky seemed to delight in doing, there was so little in the
way of occupation. He thought of the days as they spread before him. A
little riding, a great amount of casual reading and--what else? Was the
South "getting" him as the tropics are supposed to "get" the
Northerners?

That unlucky meeting with a mountaintop had effectively despoiled him of
his one ambition. Soldiers with game legs are not wanted. He couldn't
paint like Charity, he couldn't spin yarns like Rupert, he possessed a
mind too inaccurate to cope with the intricacies of any science. And as
a business man he would probably be a good street cleaner.