with a total
lack of interest.

The black-haired one mounted a stone, and pointing her finger
alternately at herself and at her sister, went through the incantation:

"_Eevery, ivery, ickery Ann,
Fillacy, fallacy, Nicholas Dan;
Queevery, quavery,
English navy,
Come striddle, come straddle, come out!_"

The last word was uttered as she pointed at her sister, and the
fair-haired twin sprang up in triumph. "It's me!" she chanted, "it's
me! I'm to be Elsie Cameron!"

Her sister succumbed to the inevitable as good-naturedly as possible.
No one ever dreamed of calling into question the final decision of the
mystic rhyme. They flew down the bank to a green bower which had been
their playhouse ever since their arrival, and soon were amicably
engaged in a charming drama, in which Lenora was Miss Cameron, and
Lorena Dr. Allen, who, mounted upon a barrel-hoop, dashed gallantly up
to the door to take the young lady for a drive.

Meantime, Tim was still hurrying up the ravine, fired with a new
purpose. Ever since the day he had seen the strange, dark man of the
Drowned Lands defy the minister, the eldest orphan had regarded the
offender with worshiping interest. Among the other peculiarities of
the child's queer, twisted nature, was a feeling of comradeship with
the wicked and outcast. He had belonged to that class all his life,
and as public opinion grew in strength against John McIntyre, in like
proportion grew Tim's admiration.

To-night he was resolved to visit him. It was a fine opportunity, for
he could let the man see that he, too, was frightfully wicked, and
despised ministers--in fact, had left home that night because one was
coming.

As he scrambled along beneath the bridge he heard footsteps and voices
above him. He crouched down among the bracken. Billy Winters and the
other fellows might be there, and he did not want them when he went to
visit a man like John McIntyre. The voices passed, and he peeped out.
It was only Dr. Allen and that Cameron girl who sang. Tim decided not
to throw a stone, after all. The girl had come over and sung Joey to
sleep when he was sick, and the doctor was an uncomfortable sort of
person to hit with a rock.

He limped along the bank of the pond, dodging behind the willows, until
his feet sank in the soft sawdust. Then he paused behind a heap of
logs to reconnoiter.

Yes, there was the man sitting in the doorway of the engine-room, and
looking as dark a