fy that she thought her the same mysterious one who had been in her
barn.

"Well, she was real sorry for having made me so much trouble, and it _was_
trouble. She said she didn't see the sheep in the field, and she was as
scar't as they was, I reckon. I asked her what she was doin' out and she
said looking for a girl."

"A girl?" asked Jack, sharply.

"Yes. I ast her if it was her girl--thinkin' she might be a farmer's
wife from around there, but she didn't say any more. Only she kept sort
of moanin' like, an' sayin' as how her life was spoilt, an' how if she
could only find a girl--well, I couldn't make much head or tail of it,
an' anyhow I was worried about the sheep, for one got torn on a barbed
wire fence. But I was sorry for the woman. I ast her if she intended to
spend the night out-doors, and she said yes.

"I couldn't hardly stand for that--for by her voice I could tell she
wasn't a common kind. So I ast her if she had any money. I was goin' to
give her some myself, so she could get a night's lodging anyhow. She
put her hand in her pocket--sort of absent-minded like, and then she got
a surprise, I guess, for she pulled out a silver purse, that she didn't
seem to expect to find there. I could see it plain for I was lightin'
my pipe just then to quiet my nerves."

"A silver purse?" cried Cora.

"Ahem!" coughed Belle, meaningly, and Cora, looking at her, understood
there was something to be told--later.

"Yes, a silver purse," went on the man. "She didn't appear to know she had
it, and when she opened it and saw some bills and silver, she was more
struck than ever. She said something about not knowing it was there, and
then she cried out: 'Oh, it must have been them dear girls! God bless
'em!' That's the words she used, miss. I remember 'em well."

The others had left their cars now, and come up to hear the recital. The
boys looked meaningly at one another, and the girls exchanged glances.

"What happened next?" asked Cora.

"Why, nothin' much, miss. You see the woman had money though she didn't
know it, which I took to be queer. But it wa'n't none of my affair. She
gave me good-night and went back to the road, walkin' off in the direction
of the town. I guess she got lodging all right--she could go to a hotel
with that money. It was more than I carry. But the sheep was all right
by then, quieted down, so I left 'em to my dogs and crawled under the
hay. I slept good, too.

"But now, miss, I want to obl