t to the
swamp at night, and on her trips in the daytime, every one knew that she
carried a revolver, understood how to use it, and pursued her work in a
fearless manner.

Elnora, prowling around the swamp and lured into the interior by the
flight of moths and butterflies; Elnora, without father, money, or
friends save himself, to defend her--Elnora was a different proposition.
For this to happen just when the Limberlost was bringing the very desire
of her heart to the girl, it was too bad.

Sinton was afraid for her, yet he did not want to add the burden of fear
to Katharine Comstock's trouble, or to disturb the joy of Elnora in her
work. He stopped at the cabin and slowly went up the walk. Mrs. Comstock
was sitting on the front steps with some sewing. The work seemed to
Sinton as if she might be engaged in putting a tuck in a petticoat. He
thought of how Margaret had shortened Elnora's dress to the accepted
length for girls of her age, and made a mental note of Mrs. Comstock's
occupation.

She dropped her work on her lap, laid her hands on it and looked into
his face with a sneer.

"You didn't let any grass grow under your feet," she said.

Sinton saw her white, drawn face and comprehended.

"I went to pay a debt and see about this opening of the ditch, Kate."

"You said you were going to prosecute me."

"Good gracious, Kate!" cried Sinton. "Is that what you have been
thinking all day? I told you before I left yesterday that I would not
need do that. And I won't! We can't afford to quarrel over Elnora. She's
all we've got. Now that she has proved that if you don't do just what
I think you ought by way of clothes and schooling, she can take care of
herself, I put that out of my head. What I came to see you about is
a kind of scare I've had to-day. I want to ask you if you ever see
anything about the swamp that makes you think the old Corson gang is
still at work?"

"Can't say that I do," said Mrs. Comstock. "There's kind of dancing
lights there sometimes, but I supposed it was just people passing along
the road with lanterns. Folks hereabout are none too fond of the swamp.
I hate it like death. I've never stayed here a night in my life without
Robert's revolver, clean and loaded, under my pillow, and the shotgun,
same condition, by the bed. I can't say that I'm afraid here at home.
I'm not. I can take care of myself. But none of the swamp for me!"

"Well, I'm glad you are not afraid, Kate, because I must te