e all of her you can. She's an original, that
child, and I'm going to like her. Our natures are a good deal alike."

"Oh, Josie!"

"That's a fact. We're both proud, resentful, reckless and affectionate.
We hate our enemies and love our friends. We're rebellious, at times,
and not afraid to defy the world."

"I'm sure you are not like that, dear," protested Mary Louise.

"I am. Ingua and I are both children of nature. The only difference is
that I am older and have been taught diplomacy and self-control, which
she still lacks. I mask my feelings, while Ingua frankly displays hers.
That's why I am attracted to her."

Mary Louise did not know how to combat this mood. She remained silent
until Josie was dressed and the two went down to dinner. Their visitor
was no longer the type of a half ignorant, half shrewd sewing-girl,
such as she had appeared to be while in the village. Her auburn hair
was now tastefully arranged and her attire modest and neat. She talked
entertainingly during dinner, enlivening her companions thereby, and
afterward played a game of dominoes with the Colonel in the
living-room, permitting him to beat her at this, his favorite
diversion.

Both the old gentleman and his granddaughter enjoyed their evenings
with Josie O'Gorman, for she proved delightful company. In the
mornings, however, she would don her cheap gingham, rumple her hair,
and pose throughout the day as Josie Jessup the sewing-girl.

Ingua, at first shy of the visitor, soon developed a strong liking for
Josie and would talk with her more freely than with Mary Louise. Josie
would skip across the stepping-stones and help Ingua wash the breakfast
dishes and sweep the bare little rooms of the cottage and then together
they would feed the chickens, gather the eggs and attend to such daily
tasks as Ingua was obliged to fulfill. With Josie's help this was soon
accomplished and then the child was free for the day and could run
across to join Mary Louise, while Josie sallied to the village to
interview the natives.

When the girl detective had been at Cragg's Crossing for a week she was
a familiar figure to the villagers--every one of whom was an
acquaintance--and had gleaned all the information it was possible to
secure from them, which was small in amount and unsatisfactory in
quality. Two or three times she had passed Old Swallowtail on the
street, but he had not seemed to notice her. Always the old man stared
straight ahead, walking st