hat
he desired nothing so much as to be left alone--any one would have
gathered that he feared discovery. They had all been conscious of the
mystery about him. Her thoughts flew back to the half-laughing
conversation between Harry and Wally, when they had actually speculated
as to why he was hiding. Putting the case fairly and squarely, Norah had
to admit that it looked black against the Hermit.

Against it, what had she? No proof; only a remembrance of two honest
eyes looking sadly at her; of a face that had irresistibly drawn her
confidence and friendship; of a voice whose tones had seemed to echo
sincerity and kindness. It was absolutely beyond Norah's power to
believe that the hand that had held hers so gently could have been the
one to strike to death an unsuspecting mate. Her whole nature revolted
against the thought that her friend could be so base.

"He was in trouble," Norah said, over and over again, in her uneasy
mind; "he was unhappy. But I know he wasn't wicked. Why, Bobs made
friends with him!"

The thought put fresh confidence in her mind; Bobs always knew "a good
sort."

"I won't say anything," she decided at last, as they wheeled round the
corner of the homestead. "If they knew there was a tall old man there,
they'd go and hunt him out, and annoy him horribly. I know he's all
right. I'll hold my tongue about him altogether--even to Dad."

The coach dropped Mr. Linton next day at the Cross Roads, where a little
figure, clad in white linen, sat in the buggy, holding the brown ponies,
while the dusky Billy was an attendant sprite on his piebald mare.

"Well, my little girl, it's good to see you again," Mr. Linton said,
putting his Gladstone bag into the buggy and receiving undismayed a
small avalanche of little daughter upon his neck. "Steady, dear--mind
the ponies." He jumped in, and put his arm round her. "Everything well?"

"Yes, all right, Daddy. I'm so glad to have you back!"

"Not gladder than I am to get back, my little lass," said her father.
"Good-day, Billy. Let 'em go, Norah."

"Did you see Jim?" asked Norah, as the ponies bounded forward.

"No--missed him. I had only an hour in town, and went out to the school,
to find Master Jim had gone down the river--rowing practice. I was sorry
to miss him; but it wasn't worth waiting another day in town."

"Jim would be sorry," said Norah thoughtfully. She herself was rather
glad: had Jim seen his father, most probably he would have mentioned