ll
stared, she added quickly: "You're the man from Peterson's? From San
Mateo? You came to fix it, didn't you?"

"Not at all," said Anthony, smiling. "I came from New York."

Light dawned in the girl's eyes. She gave a horrified laugh.

"Well, how stupid of me!" she ejaculated. "Of course, I thought you
were. I'm expecting a man to fix the trap, any day, and you sent no
name. I bought this affair a week ago; there's a coon, or a fox, or
something, that's been coming down from the hills after my pullets; but
it won't work."

"I don't know anything about traps," said Anthony.

He was wondering how he had best introduce himself. The vague campaign
that he had outlined on those restless nights in the train would be
useless here, he had decided. As he spoke, he absently touched the
tangled chains and bolts with his foot.

"Don't do that!" screamed Miss Mix.

At the same second there was a victorious convulsion of metal teeth,
and Anthony found himself frantically jerking at his foot, which was
fast in the trap.

"Oh, you're caught! You are caught!" cried the girl, distressedly. "Oh,
please don't hurt yourself tugging that way--you can't do it!"

Her eyes, full of concern and sympathy, met his for a second; then,
suddenly, she broke into laughter.

"Why, confound the thing!" said Anthony, in pained surprise, as he
struggled and twisted. "How does it open?"

"It DOESN'T!" choked Miss Mix, her mirth quite beyond control, as she
gave various futile little tugs and twitches at the trap. "That's the
trouble! The key never has had the slightest effect. Oh, I will NOT
laugh this way!" she upbraided herself sternly. "Bu--bu--but you did
look so--" She abruptly turned her back upon him for a moment, facing
him again with perfect calm, although with lashes still wet, and
suspicious little dimples about her mouth. "Now, I'll get you out of it
immediately," she assured him gravely; "and meanwhile I can't tell you
how sorry I am that--just sit on this box, you'll be more comfortable.
I'll run and telephone a plumber, or some one." She paused in the
doorway. "But I don't know your name?"

"Appropriately enough, it's Fox," said he, briefly; "Anthony Fox."

Miss Mix gasped, opened her mouth, shut it without speaking, and gasped
again. Then she sat down heavily on a box.

"Of New York--I see!" said she, but more as if speaking to herself than
to him. "Tony's father; he's written to you, and you've come all the
way from New Y