other, and I wouldn't
exchange Billy for any breeze that blows.

Lady Crusoe suffered less than I, for she was on her native heath, and
in the afternoon when we sewed together William Watters made lemonade,
and in the evening when Billy came up for me we sat out under the stars
until whispers of wind stirred the trees, and then we went away and left
our dear lady alone.

As the time went on we hated more and more to leave her, but she was
very brave about it. "I have my good man Friday," she told us, "to
protect me, and my grandfather's revolver."

So the summer passed, and the fall came, and the busy robin and all of
her red-breasted family started for the South, and there was rain and
more rain, so that when October rolled around the roads were perfect
rivers of red mud, and the swollen streams swept under the bridges in
raging torrents of terra-cotta, and the sheep on the hills were pinker
than ever. There was no lack of color in those gray days, for the trees
burst through the curtain of mist in great splashes of red and green and
gold. But now I did not go abroad with William Watters behind his old
gray mule, for things had happened which kept me at home.

It was on a rainy November night that I came down to the store to call
Billy to supper. I had brought a saucer for old Tid, the store cat, and
when he had finished Billy had cut him a bit of cheese and he was
begging for it. We had taught Tid to sit up and ask, and he looked so
funny, for he is fat and black and he hates to beg, but he loves cheese.
We were laughing at him when a great flash of light seemed to sweep
through the store, and a motor stopped.

Billy went forward at once. The front door opened, and a man in a
rain-coat was blown in by the storm.

"Jove, it's a wet night!" I heard him say, and I knew it wasn't any of
Billy's customers from around that part of the country. This was no
drawling Virginia voice. It was crisp and clear-cut and commanding.

He took off his hat, and even at that distance I could see his shining
blond head. He towered above Billy, and Billy isn't short. "I wonder if
you could help me," he began, and then he hesitated, "it is a rather
personal matter."

"If you'll come up-stairs," Billy told him, "there'll be only my wife
and me, and I can shut up the store for the night."

"Good!" he said, and I went ahead of them with old Tid following, and
presently the men arrived and Billy presented the stranger to me.

He tol