acked as her
face was wrinkled.

Billie nodded.

"I bring message. You look for somebody?"

"Yes," replied Billie eagerly.

"You not find him now. Too much enemies."

"Where is he?" she demanded.

No answer came to this question.

"You will not tell me?"

"No tell," answered the old creature.

"Is he ill or hurt?"

The herb gatherer touched her forehead.

"He safe," she answered. "But people not safe who look for him. Too much
enemies."

After that not another word could Billie get out of the obstinate old
creature.

Who had sent her? Who was looking after Phoebe's father, if he were hurt
or a prisoner? Could not Phoebe see him? Nothing would she reply to all
these questions.

[Illustration: The old woman waved aside this greeting with her
stick.--Page 212.]

"I'm much obliged for that much anyhow," said Billie at last. "You
must be tired and hungry. Won't you come back to the camp and let me
give you----" she paused to consider. What could an old stunted apple
tree like? Somehow it didn't seem as if she could live on real food.
"Will you drink a cup of tea?" she added hastily.

The wrinkled face remained inscrutable.

"Or coffee?"

"Coffee?" repeated the old soul, and suddenly without the faintest
warning, smiled and Billie smiled back.

"I can make delicious strong coffee," announced the girl proudly. "You
will come, won't you?"

"I come," answered the herb-gatherer. "Coffee? I come!"

They walked briskly back to camp, this ill-assorted couple, and it was
not long before Billie had established her companion in a chair under
the trees and the coffee pot on the kerosene stove, where it was soon
sending out a fragrant aroma.

"Don't you get very tired gathering herbs on the mountains?" asked
Billie, by way of making conversation.

"When I tired, I rest," answered the other briefly.

Presently Billie brought out a tray with a cup and saucer, sugar and
cream and some thin slices of buttered bread. From the upper gallery
there came to her the low hum of conversation. The sleepers had awakened
and were getting bathed and dressed.

"Do you know Phoebe?" she asked, while she poured the coffee.

The herb-gatherer smacked her lips and sniffed the air expectantly.
"I've seen her."

"Don't you feel sorry for her to lose her father? She is very unhappy."

"No sugar," exclaimed the old woman, ignoring the question. "Good!" she
exclaimed. "Fine coffee!"

Presently Billie poured out another cu