en arrested and sent to prison!"

"I won't suppose anything of the kind," I declared, so vigorously that
she laughed.

"I do feel like a thief, though," she added soberly. "Why, everything I
possess has been bought fraudulently."

"You couldn't help it! Chuck 'em away, if it'll make you feel better!"

"I can't chuck 'em all away," and this time we both laughed.

"You can as soon as we reach New York, and--and----" But as I did not
know how to finish this, I stopped; for what had been in my mind was:
"When you and I share all I own!"--and, of course, that wouldn't have
done to say aloud.

For perhaps a minute she, also, was silent. Then she turned, with the
frankest, sweetest manner I have ever seen, and said in a voice of
mellifluent charm:

"Do you know that you've been just awfully splendid?"

I knew that my face got very red, but I tried to answer casually enough:

"The splendid things were done by Tommy, Gates, Smilax, and the other
fellows. You'll like Tommy, and Monsieur knows--did I tell you he knows
your mother?"

"Don't," she whispered. "You make me feel like I'm being led into a new
world, with new people, and new customs, and new things!" Now her eyes
widened as if making a discovery, as she added: "My fa----, that is, Mr.
Graham, must actually have recognized Monsieur Dragot!"

"There's no other deduction," I agreed. "Our case is proved almost
beyond a doubt. Don't call that fellow your father again, or even Mr.
Graham. Smilax and I have a name we'll share with you."

"What?"

"Efaw Kotee."

Her laughter rippled through the wood, as she cried:

"How perfectly lovely! I know what it means!"

"Then you speak Seminole, Miss--Miss--but you say it isn't Sylvia?"

An expression of happy mischief in her face made it adorable.

"No, it isn't Sylvia. It's Doloria--you see, my life has been sad!"

"One wouldn't say so to look at you now. And I think Doloria's a
thousand times prettier than Sylvia! Doloria! Just Doloria--like that?"
For I wanted an excuse to keep on saying it.

"I--I suppose so," she hesitated. "Of course, it's always had Graham
after it, but--what did your Monsieur Dragot say my last name was?"

"He didn't say."

"Then I haven't any."

"Oh, well, you needn't bother about that. Any time it gets lonesome you
can hitch on Bronx--that is, I mean, only in case, you know."

I could have bitten out my tongue for this! I don't know what fiends
possessed me to be such an unmitigat