g
in fright. "There's the hosses we heard, but I reckon 'twas these gals
the wolves was after."

"I guess you're right," said Betty, trying to smile through a shiver.
"It wasn't very much fun while it lasted, either."

At this the old man, who had very kindly, keen blue eyes in his seamed
and wrinkled face, turned and spat upon the ground meditatively.

"You don't mean to tell me," he said, looking from one to the other of
the girls, "that you purty young girls was out hyar all alone, without
even a gun to protect yourselves with?"

"I guess we were." It was Mollie who spoke this time, and her tone was
rueful. "We aren't used to this part of the world, you see, and so we
didn't know what a risky thing we were doing."

"They are most as bad as the Hermit of Gold Run, aren't they, Dad?"
asked the big girl, her eyes twinkling. "He goes about everywhere
through the woods without a gun and only his violin for company; and,
somehow or other, the beasts never molest him. Some says he charms 'em
with his violin, but I think it's just luck," she added, with a wise
shake of her head.

The girls, whose curiosity had revived as their fears subsided, listened
with interest to this rather long speech of the mountain girl.

"Has this--er--hermit, as you call him----" Betty interrogated eagerly,
"has he long curly hair and is he tall----"

"With stooped shoulders?" finished Amy.

The mountain girl looked amazed.

"Why yes. Do you know him?" she asked, adding, as though to explain her
surprise: "He doesn't like to see people, you know, and folks round here
don't know much about him 'cept that he plays the violin. That's why
they calls him the hermit, 'cause he lives alone an' hates everybody."

"All except Meggy, here," interposed the old man, a look of pride in his
eyes as he gazed at his daughter. "He likes her fust rate. She says it's
'cause she takes him grub an' good things to eat. But I know better."

"Pshaw, Dad," cried the girl, flushing with embarrassment. "It's jest
one of your idees that people like me better'n most when they don't at
all." As though to change the subject, she touched the stiff animal at
her feet with the toe of her stout boot.

"What you aim to do with this one, Dad?" she asked. "It was your bullet
got him. Mine went wild, an' I jest injured the other feller."

"Waal," said the old man, his gaze fixed speculatively on the big beast,
"he's not wuth the trouble o' skinning an' his meat ain't mu