n the rain. A red plush cape was round her
shoulders; and Eleanor could hardly believe her eyes--she had not seen
them since she went through the East End of London--they were copper
toed boots.

"M' name is Meestress Leezie O'Finnigan. What's y'rs?" demanded the
little old face.

Eleanor didn't answer. She was trying to think what had changed the
driver's friendly manner. He had neither greeted her nor proffered the
reins. And now, oh, philosopher of the human heart, for each of us is
a philosopher inside, answer me: why did the driver, who was a bit of a
hero, and the lavender silk, who was an adventuress, and the gold
teeth, who was a slattern, neither pure nor simple, why did each and
all eagerly believe the evil, so vague it had not been stated, written
by an unknown blackmailer, in the face of the reputation of purity
sitting beside them?

"M' father uz down inside," continued the child. "He's sleep. We're
goin' t' live on th' Ridge. D' y' know what a Ridge iz? We're goin'
t' be waal-thy--m' father says so. He says we won't have a thing t' do
but sit toight an' whuttle un' sput, un' whuttle un' sput fur three
years, then the com'ny wull huv t' pay us what he asks. He says they
think they'll pay him off fur three hun'red; but he says he _knows_, he
does; un' he's goin' t' hold 'em up fur half. Unless they give him
half he'll tell--"

"What?" asked Eleanor, suddenly wakening up to the meaning of the
chatter. "What is your father?"

"He's trunk jes' now," said the child. Then she reached her face up to
Eleanor's confidentially. The little teeth were very unclean and the
breath was very garlicky, indeed. "He's goin' t' be a dummy," she
whispered with a gurgle of childish glee, "un' he says he'll easily
hold 'em up for twenty thousand without doin' a thing fur five years
but whuttle un' sput."

"A dummy? Oh," said Eleanor.

Even the driver relaxed enough to flick the tandem grays with his whip
and permit a twisted smile to play round the tobacco wad in his cheek.

They ate their late supper in the Ranch House by lamp light, her father
scarcely uttering a word, the evening paper still sticking out of his
coat pocket.

"I know this sheep affair has been a horrible, hideous loss," she said.
"Is that what's worrying you, father?"

MacDonald shoved back from the table.

"Pah, that's nothing," he said.

He stood waiting till the German cook had removed the dishes. Then he
drew the paper f