te truth."

It was very dark now, but she could feel his eyes, as piercing as search
lights, demanding the truth.

"The gate was open and I just walked out, or maybe I stole out. I didn't
follow Jo, because he didn't say where he lived--just the hill country.
I'll tell you the real reason--thieves don't always lie--I had been sick
and the doctor said air like this for mine, and so I followed this trail.
I picked it up here and I'd have been all right if I hadn't run up against
that lightning-chaser of a Bender. I guess folks are keener out this way
than they are in the cities. More time to hunt crooks, maybe."

"No;" he denied. "It isn't that. It's because we have a beautiful, clean
country and we are going to--"

"Have no blots on the landscape," she interrupted. "I suppose Bender
catches them and you reform them. Is that the system? Well, no one can be
good till they are comfortable. I'm not very strong yet, and I'm not used
to being out untethered like this. I'm cold and sleepy. If you don't
object, I'll crawl into your old wagon if I can find it in the dark."

She caught a note of contrition in a muffled exclamation.

"Wait!"

She heard him walk on to the car and come back. Then she felt a coat
wrapped snugly about her.

He guided her to the clumps of trees and spread a robe on the ground.

"Sit down here," he said peremptorily.

She gave a little smile of victory which, if he had seen it, would have
strangled all his new-born compassion.

"Why didn't you tell me your story in the first place?" he demanded.

"When you are out in the world alone, you know," she said sagely, "and
everyone is taking a shot at you, you have to put out a bluff of bravado,
same as a porcupine shoots out his quills."

He gave another murmur of sympathy.

"Don't feel too bad about it, Kind Kurt, because being knocked about
sharpens your wits and makes you an expert dodger when you aren't equal to
fighting in the open."

Suddenly into the black-purple sky shot forth a moon and stars.

"Makes the white lights of a city look like thirty cents, eh, Kurt?" she
commented.

He made no response, and she was serenely aware of his silent
disapproval.

"What's matter, Kurt?"

"My name," he replied frigidly, "is Walters."

"Is it, then? And what might your middle name be?"

"You can call me 'Mr. Walters,'" he replied, striving for dignity and
realizing instantly how lame was the attempt.

"Oh, can I now? Well, I'll do nothin