t might, then darted across the
road and plunged into the briery underbrush. Noiselessly he made his way
to the now deserted cabin, creeping, crawling till he reached a point
below an open window, then slowly raised himself and looked within.

"Virgie!" he whispered cautiously. "Virgie!"

No answer came. For a moment the man leaned dizzily against the
windowsill, his eyes fast closed with a nameless dread, till he caught
his grip again and entered the open door.

"Virgie!" he called, in a louder tone, moving swiftly but unsteadily
toward the adjoining room. He flung its door open sharply, almost
angrily; yet the name on his lips was tender, trembling, as he called:
"Virgie! Virgie!"

In the loneliness of dread, he once more leaned for support against the
wall, wondering, listening to the pounding of his heart, to the murmur
of the muddy James, and the fall of a flake of plaster loosened by the
dull reverberation of a distant gun; then suddenly his eye was caught
by the kettle simmering on the fire, and he sighed in swift relief.

He wiped his brow with a ragged sleeve and went to where a water-bucket
stood behind the door, knelt beside it, drinking deeply, gratefully, yet
listening the while for unwonted sounds and watching the bend of the
carriage road. His thirst appeased, he hunted vainly through the table
drawer for balls and powder for the empty pistol at his hip; then,
instinctively alert to some rustling sound outside, he crouched toward
the adjoining room, slipped in, and softly closed the door.

From the sunlit world beyond the cabin walls rose the murmur of a
childish song and Virgie came pattering in.

She had not changed greatly in stature in the past few months, but there
was a very noticeable decrease in the girth of her little arms and body,
and her big dark eyes seemed the larger for the whiteness of her face.
On her head she wore an old calico bonnet several sizes too large and
the gingham dress which scarcely reached to her bare, brown knees would
not have done, a few months ago, for even Sally Ann. In one hand Virgie
carried a small tin bucket filled with berries; in the other she
clutched a doll lovingly against her breast.

Not the old Susan Jemima, but a new Susan Jemima on whom an equal
affection was being lavished even though she was strangely and
wonderfully made. To the intimate view of the unimaginative, Susan
Jemima was formed from the limb of a cedar tree, the forking branches
being