m afraid I'm not very rich," she said.

"Will yo' give me a pitcher?"

"Why, yes." She glanced at the few prints that adorned the log wall,
trying to make up her mind which she would part with, and deciding
upon a mysterious moonlight-on-the-waves effect, lifted it from the
wall and placed it in the girl's hands.

Microby Dandeline stared at it without enthusiasm: "I want a took
one," she said, at length.

"A what?"

"A one tooken with that," she pointed at the camera that adorned the
top of the little cupboard.

"Oh," smiled Patty, "you want me to take your picture! All right, I'd
love to take your picture. You can get on Gee Dot, and I'll take you
both. But we'll have to wait till there is more light. The sun has
gone down and it's too dark this evening."

The girl shook her head, "Naw, I don't want none like that. That
hain't no good. I want one like yo' pa tookened of his mine. Then I'll
git rich too."

"So that's it," thought Patty, busying herself with the biscuit dough.
And instantly there flashed into her mind the words of Ma Watts, "Mr.
Bethune tellin' her how she'd git rich ef she could fin' a gol' mine,
an' how she could buy her fine clos' like yourn an' go to the city an'
live." And she remembered that the woman had said that all the time
she and Lord Clendenning had been wrangling over the eggs, Bethune and
Microby had "talked an' laughed, friendly as yo' please."

"How do you know my father took any pictures of his mine?" asked
Patty, cautiously.

"'Cause he did."

"What would you do with the picture if I gave it to you?"

"I'd git rich."

"How?"

"'Cause I would."

Patty whirled suddenly upon the girl and grasping her shoulder with a
doughy hand shook her smartly: "Who told you that? What do you mean?
Who are you trying to get that picture for? Come! Out with it!"

"Le' me go," whimpered the girl, frightened by the unexpected attack.

"Not 'til you tell me who told you about that picture. Come
on--speak!" The shaking continued.

"Hit--wu-wu-wus--V-V-Vil Hol-Holland!" she sniffled readily--all too
readily to be convincing, thought Patty, as she released her grip on
the girl's shoulder.

"Oh, it was Vil Holland, was it? And what does he want with it?"

"He--he--s-says h-how h-him an' m-me'd g-git r-r-rich!"

"Who told you to say it was Vil Holland?"

"Hit wus Vil Holland--an' that's whut I gotta say," she repeated,
between sobs. "An' now yo' mad--an'--an' Mr. Bethune he'll--he'