liar form of feminine
torture known as a "fitting"; but insecurely basted, pinned, and tucked
as she was, she came flying down to the gate to meet her visitor.

Alaire was introduced to Mrs. Strange, the dressmaker, a large,
acidulous brunette, with a mouthful of pins; and then, when Paloma had
given herself once more into the seamstress's hands, the two friends
gossiped.

Since Mrs. Strange was the first capable dressmaker who had ever come
to Jonesville, Paloma had closed her eyes and plunged with reckless
extravagance. Now the girl insisted upon a general exhibition of her
new wardrobe, a sort of grand fashion review, for the edification of
her caller, in the course of which she tried on all her dresses.

Paloma was petite and well proportioned, and the gowns were altogether
charming. Alaire was honest in her praise, and Paloma's response was
one of whole-hearted pleasure. The girl beamed. Never before had she
been so admired, never until this moment had she adored a person as she
adored Mrs. Austin, whose every suggestion as to fit and style was
acted upon, regardless of Mrs. Strange.

"I don't know what Dad will say when he gets the bill for these
dresses," Paloma confessed.

"Your father is a mighty queer man," Mrs. Strange observed. "I haven't
so much as laid eyes on him."

Paloma nodded. "Yes. And he's getting more peculiar all the time; I
can't make out what ails him."

"Where is he now?" asked Alaire.

"Heaven knows! Out in the barn or under the house." Taking advantage of
the dressmaker's momentary absence from the room, Paloma continued in a
whisper: "I wish you'd talk to Dad and see what you make of him. He's
absolutely--queer. Mrs. Strange seems to have a peculiar effect on him.
Why, it's almost as if--"

"What?"

"Well, I suppose I'm foolish, but--I'm beginning to believe in spells.
You know, Mrs. Strange's husband is a sort of--necromancer."

"How silly!"

There was no further opportunity for words, as the woman reappeared at
that instant; but a little later Alaire went in search of Blaze, still
considerably mystified. As she neared the farm buildings she glimpsed a
man's figure hastily disappearing into the barn. The figure bore a
suspicious resemblance to Blaze Jones, yet when she followed he was
nowhere to be seen. Now this was curious, for Texas barns are less
pretentious than those of the North, and this one was little more than
a carriage-house and a shelter for agricultural impleme