e young
feller who came last fall. Riley, his name was, or something like
that."

"Starr Wiley?" Willa smiled. "Did he ask you anything else, Mr.
Ryder?"

"He was trying most particular to find out Gentleman Geoff's last name,
but nobody ever heard it here. You'll find Klondike Kate living in the
last shack on the west side o' the street before you come to the
coal-yard. She ain't a pleasant sight to look at, poor old Kate! The
fire caught her, too, when she rescued the baby, and though she was a
fine-appearing girl before then, her own mother wouldn't know her now,
or want to, I guess, for that matter. She's square, I'll say that for
her; whatever she tells you, you can bank on."

Willa took leave of Mr. Ryder and departed upon her quest. He followed
to the cafe door and stood looking perplexedly after her as she made
her way down the rambling street. He was trying to fix in his mind the
vagrant, subtle sensation of familiarity which possessed him when he
had first caught sight of her face. Stolid and slow of wit as he was,
the conviction grew that she or someone very like her had crossed his
path before. Then the face of the song-and-dance artiste at Jake's
flashed across his memory and the next minute he was pounding heavily
after the girl.

"Hey, Ma'am! Wait a second!" he panted.

Willa turned.

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but it come to me that you might be little Billie,
yourself! Are you? I'd like powerful well to see her again!"

"Look at me!" commanded Willa. "Could you swear, Mr. Ryder, that I was
the child you call 'Billie'? Could you take your oath on it?"

He looked long and searchingly while she waited in breathless suspense.
At last he drew back, shaking his head.

"No'm, I couldn't. Meaning no disrespect, there's a look about you of
Miss Vi, but fifteen or sixteen years is a long time to trust your
memory and I couldn't swear to nothing."

Willa sighed and turned away.

"My name is Abercrombie," she said. "You are right, Mr. Ryder.
Fifteen years are a very long time."

The shack next the coal-yard was more forlorn even than the others,
though the sagging porch was swept clean, and ineffectual attempts had
been made to mend the breaks in roof and walls with fresher slabs of
unpainted wood which stood out against the gray weathered boards like
patches on an old coat.

There was no bell, but Willa knocked patiently on the panel until there
came a slow tread within and the door ope