s of her shoes soggy from wet floors. Jean
kept out of her way, but she owned to herself that, after all, it was
not unpleasant to come home tired and not have to cook a solitary
supper and eat it in silent meditation.

The third night after Hepsy's arrival, Jean awoke to hear a man's
furtive footsteps in her father's room. This was the fifth time that
the prowler had come in the night, and custom had dulled her fear a
little. She had not reached the point yet of getting up to see who it
was and what he wanted. It was much easier to lie perfectly still with
her six-shooter gripped in her hand and wait for him to go. Beyond
stealthily trying her door and finding it fastened on the inside, he
had never shown any disposition to invade her room.

To-night was as all other nights when he came and made that mysterious
search, until he went into the little bedroom where slept Hepsibah
Atwood. Jean listened to the faint creaking of old boards which told
her that he was approaching Hepsy's room, and she wondered if Hepsy
would hear him. Hepsy did hear him. There was a squeak of the old
bedstead that told how a hundred and seventy-two pounds of indignant
womanhood was rising to do battle.

"Who's that? Git outa here, or I'll smash you!" There was no fear but
a great deal of determination in Hepsy's voice, and there was the sound
of her bare feet spatting on the floor.

The man's footsteps retreated hurriedly. Jean heard the kitchen door
open and slam shut with a shrill squeal of its rusty hinges, and the
sound of a man running down the path. She heard Hepsy muttering
threats while she followed to the door and looked out, and she heard
the muttering continue while Hepsy returned to bed.

It was very comforting. Jean tucked her gun under her pillow, laughed
to herself for having shuddered under the blankets at the sound of a
man so easily put to flight, and went to sleep feeling quite secure and
for the first time really glad that Hepsibah Atwood was in the house.

She listened the next morning to Hepsy's colorful account of the
affair, but she did not tell Hepsy that the man had been there before.
She did not even tell her that she had heard the disturbance, and was
lying with her gun in her hand ready to shoot if he came into her room.
For a girl as frank and outspoken as was Jean, she had almost as great
a talent as Lite for holding her tongue.

CHAPTER XVII

"WHY DON'T YOU GIVE THEM SOMETHING REAL?"

"W