different one. That gentle-faced old man, with a
world of kindness in his tired eyes--he the man who killed his sleeping
mate for a handful of gold! Norah set her square little chin. She would
not--could not--believe it.

"Why, you're very quiet, dearie." Mrs. Brown glanced inquiringly at her
companion. "A minute ago you was chatterin', and now you've gone down
flat, like old soda-water. Is anything wrong?"

"No, I'm all right, Brownie. I was only thinking," said Norah, forcing a
smile.

"Too many sweeties, I expect," said Mrs. Brown, laying a heavy hand on
the bag and impounding it for future reference. "Mustn't have you get
indigestion, an' your Pa comin' home to-morrow."

Norah laughed.

"Now, did you ever know me to have indigestion in my life?" she queried.

"Well, perhaps not," Mrs. Brown admitted. "Still, you never can tell; it
don' do to pride oneself on anything. If it ain't indigestion, you've
been thinking too much of this narsty murder."

Norah flicked the off pony deliberately with her whip.

"Darkie is getting disgracefully lazy," she said. "He's not doing a bit
of the work. Nigger's worth two of him." The injured Darkie shot forward
with a bound, and Mrs. Brown grabbed the side of the buggy hastily, and
in her fears at the pace for the ensuing five minutes forgot her too
inconvenient cross-examination.

Norah settled back into silence, her forehead puckered with a frown. She
had never in her careless little life been confronted by such a problem
as the one that now held her thoughts. That the startling similarity
between her new-made friend and the description of the murderer should
fasten upon her mind, was unavoidable. She struggled against the idea as
disloyal, but finally decided to think it out calmly.

The descriptions tallied. So much was certain. The verbal likeness of
one man was an exact word painting of the other, so far as it went,
"though," as poor Norah reflected, "you can't always tell a person just
by hearing what he's like." Then there was no denying that the conduct
of the Hermit would excite suspicion. He was camping alone in the
deepest recesses of a lonely tract of scrub; he had been there some
weeks, and she had had plenty of proof that he was taken aback at being
discovered and wished earnestly that no future prowlers might find their
way to his retreat. She recalled his shrinking from the boys, and his
hasty refusal to go to the homestead. He had said in so many words t