uirm. She also had a way of talking so much she gave the
impression of running down and the promise of a speedy leave-taking,
which she never took until she had gained all the information she
wanted. Her talent in a good cause would have been invaluable, for she
was shrewd, patient, and everlastingly persistent.

Laura Macpherson reluctantly left the room to get her hat, wondering,
since it had not been out of the box before, how in the world Stellar
Bahrr knew anything about it. Mrs. Bahrr was standing by the dining-room
window when she returned.

"I jis' come out here to see if the Sage Brush is raisin' down yonder.
Who is that strange girl Ponk's running around with last night?" The
gossip turned the question suddenly. "I seen 'em comin' up here myself.
Folks down-town don't know yet." The sharp, steel-pointed eyes caught
into Laura like hooks.

"I don't--believe you'll like this hat." Laura had meant to say, "I
don't intend to tell you," but she was hooked too quickly.

"Who'd you say she is?"

There was no courteous way out now.

"She is a Miss Swaim."

"Say, this hat's a jew'l. Looks younger 'n the girls' hats does on 'em.
Where's she from?"

"East. This color is a bit trying for me, I think."

"Oh, no 'tain't! What's she here for?"

"I--You'll have to ask York." Laura rolled her burdens on her brother's
shoulders, as did likewise the remainder of New Eden, when crowded to
the wall.

"York! She ain't after him, I hope. Don't blush so. That's a good one
on York. An' he never met her at the station, even. Ponk--little fiend"
(Ponk always turned game-cock when Stellar approached him), "little
devil he is--he telephoned in from down at the sidin', by the deep
fishin'-hole."

Mrs. Bahrr caught her breath and bit her lips as she eyed her hostess
slyly. Laura Macpherson was white with disgust and anger. Of all the
long-tongues, here was the queen.

"Where's the deep fishing-hole?" she asked, innocently, to get her
unpleasant caller on another tack.

For a moment Mrs. Bahrr did not reply, busying herself with examining
the new hat's lining and brim-curves. If Laura had known what York
Macpherson knew she would have realized that here was the place to score
by dwelling on the deep fishing-hole. But Laura was new to Sage Brush
traditions.

"Ponk calls in to have his spanky new runabout all ready at the station.
George nearly busted hisself gettin' there. Then Ponk, the miserable
brute, he hangs around a