a's
ginger-bread. It makes me hungry. Let's go faster."

He did not seem to hear her. She glanced at his preoccupied face,
wondering at this unusual indifference to Big Liza's ginger-bread. "What
is it, Philip?"

"I have been thinking how to begin," he said slowly. "I've got to talk
to you about something disagreeable."

"Surely you can talk to me about anything, without 'beginning'?"

"Well--I want to ask you to do something very unpleasant. To evict a
tenant. Mag Henderson."

"That girl? But why?"

"Your agent says she's months behind in her rent."

"Smith talks too much. What if she is? I can afford to be patient with
her. The girl has had a hard time. Her father seems to have deserted
her. Oh, I know they're a shiftless pair, but half the prejudice against
them is that they are strangers. I know what that is," she added
bitterly. "I've been a stranger myself in a rural community. You'll have
to give me a better reason than that, Philip."

"I can," he said.

She lifted her eyebrows. "There's talk then? I suppose so. There's
always talk, if a girl 's pretty enough and unprotected enough. The poor
little foolish Mag Hendersons of the world! Oh," she cried, "I wonder
that men _dare_ to speak of them!"

"I dare," said Benoix, quietly. "I've my parish to think of. The girl's
a plague-spot. Vice is as contagious as any other disease. Besides, it
's a question of her own safety. She's been threatened. That's why the
father left."

"What?" cried Mrs. Kildare. "The 'Possum-Hunters'? You mean they are
trying to run my affairs again?"

It was several years since men in masks had waged their anonymous
warfare against certain tobacco planters whose plans did not accord with
the sentiment of the community. The organization of Night Riders was
supposed to be repressed. But power without penalty is too heady a draft
to be relinquished easily, by men who have once known the taste of it.

Benoix nodded. "She has had warning."

Mrs. Kildare's lips set in a straight line. "Let them come! They'll try
that sort of thing once too often."

"Yes--but it might be once too often for Mag, too. She--have you seen
her lately?"

The other looked at him quickly. "Oh," she said, "oh! Well, she sha'n't
suffer alone. Who's the man?"

"She will not tell."

"Loves him--poor thing!"

For a moment the priest showed in young Benoix' face. "Miss Kate! You
speak as if that made a difference," he said sternly.

"And doesn't it, doe