ad broke into a run and brought up at the
post-office, just as the postmistress was locking the mail-bag. "Oh,
Miss Mattie!" sounded an anxious little voice at the delivery window,
"is it too late to send this letter? Mrs. Sherman said it must go, if
possible, on this train."

"It's a close shave, my dear," said Miss Mattie, reaching out to take
the letter eagerly thrust through the bars. "I'm a few minutes late,
anyhow, and there's barely time to stamp it and slip it in, so!" She
acted while she spoke, so that with the last word she had turned the
key. A coloured porter, who stood waiting, caught up the bag and hurried
across the road to the railroad station. The train came thundering down
the track, and he jumped across in front of the locomotive.

Betty watched until she saw the mail-bag tossed aboard, and then gave a
deep sigh of thankfulness. "Well," she exclaimed to Lad, in a relieved
tone, "that's done! We're too late for the charades, but maybe we'll get
back to the mill in time for the cake-walk."

It would have been quite dark by the time she reached the cross-roads
again, if it had not been that the moon was beginning to rise, and cast
a faint whiteness over the dusky fields. She could not remember which
way to turn. The first time she passed that way she had paid no
attention to direction, but had followed heedlessly after Lloyd. The
second time the pony had shot by so fast that she had had no time to
consider. Now he stood still, not caring which way she chose so long as
he had to travel away from his stall and feed-bin.

"It must be to the left," she said, in bewilderment, after a moment's
hesitation, and slowly turned in that direction. But she had taken the
wrong way. She went on and on, wondering why she did not come to a gate,
when the road suddenly turned into a narrow wagon track, with dark
corn-fields on each side. There was not a house or a human being in
sight.

The moon was not high enough yet to dispel much of the gloom of the
twilight, and bullbats were circling overhead, dipping so low at times
that once they almost brushed her face.

"Oh, I'm lost!" she whispered, with trembling lips. All of a sudden
there was a rustling of the high corn, and out of it limped a big burly
negro. He had a gun on his shoulder, and a savage-eyed dog skulked at
his heels. Betty nearly screamed in her terror at this sudden
appearance. She knew at a glance that the fellow must be "Limping Tige,"
one of the wo