d onwards into the hill country where Betty's home was, and
John's, and the little school-house and the white church and the
wonderful corner shop. Only they stopped before they came to Betty's
home, stopped at the great iron gates of her grandfather's dwelling,
drove through them and up the dark gum tree shaded path.

The man, carrying the sleeping child in his arms, walked straight into
the hall, to the huge astonishment of the sober man-servant who had
opened the door.

"I'll wait here for yer master," he said.

The hall was wide and square, and contained besides three deck-chairs, a
cane lounge covered with cushions.

Perhaps the man had some eye for dramatic effect, perhaps it was only
accident, but he placed Betty carefully upon the cushions, and put a
crimson-covered one under her dark curly head. Then he withdrew to the
door.

It was not likely that, having worked hard for his reward, he was about
to forego it. But he told himself that "his room would be better than
his company" while the rejoicings over her recovery were going on.

The captain came through the door slowly. One hour ago a policeman had
arrived in a cab with John--and had departed with a substantial reward
in his pocket. During the last hour the captain had heard John's
story--thrashed him with his own hands, and sent him to bed.

Now he was "wanted in the hall by a man with a little girl."

But there was no man visible in the hall, only a little barefooted girl
asleep--fast asleep upon his lounge. He could hear her breathing, see
her face, and he knew in a moment who she was.

He looked sharply at her, back to the door which was closed, forward to
the front door which was drawn to, and around the empty hall.

Then slowly and as if fearful of being caught he went nearer to the
sofa, and looked down at this little creature--blood of his blood--who
had appeared before him again. Her lashes lay still on her rosy
sun-tanned cheeks, her curly hair was in confusion upon the red cushion,
her bare feet were upon another. Such a pretty tired child she looked
although she was but a tattered and soiled representative of the small
pink-bonneted maiden he had seen only the other day.

He knew the story of her "career" now, and of her desire to be a
self-made woman. John had told him about her in speaking of his own
ambition. The captain's slow mind went back to the time when his own
"career" had been forced upon him, when he had only too often "sl