n to fear Patsy and Beth would seek their rooms, which
connected with her own, and find her absent. That would worry them. So
at last she rose softly, took her crutches and turned to go.

"Good night, my--friend," she said.

"Good night, my child," he answered in a mechanical tone, without
rousing from his abstraction.

Myrtle went to her room and found it was not so late as she had
feared. She opened a drawer and placed the revolver in it, not without
a little shudder.

"At any rate," she murmured, with satisfaction, "he will not use this
to-night."

CHAPTER XX

ON POINT LOMA

Next morning a beautiful bunch of roses was brought to Myrtle's
room--roses so magnificent that it seemed impossible they could be
grown out of doors. But there are few hothouses in California, and the
boy who brought the flowers confided to her the information that they
were selected from more than five hundred blooms. She ran to show them
to Patsy and Beth, who were amazed not only by the roses but by the
fact that the queer Mr. Jones had sent them to Myrtle. There was no
card or note accompanying the gift, but after the younger girl had
related her conversation with Mr. Jones the previous evening, they
could not doubt but he had sent the flowers.

"Perhaps," reflected Patsy, "we've been misjudging him. I never beheld
such a stolid, unimpressive countenance in my life; but the man must
have a soul of some sort, or he would not think of sending flowers to
his new friend."

"It's a pretty idea," said Beth. "He wanted to assure Myrtle that he
appreciated her kindness."

"I'm sure he likes me," declared Myrtle, simply. "He wasn't a bit
cross when I ran in and took away his pistol, or when I preached to
him. I really gave him a good talking to, and he didn't object a bit."

"What he needs," commented Beth, "is to get away from himself, and
mingle with people more. I wonder if we could coax him to join us in
our ride to Point Loma."

"Would we care to ask him?" said Patsy. "He's as sour and crabbed in
looks as he is in disposition, and has treated Uncle John's advances
shamefully. I'd like to help Myrtle bring the old fellow back to life;
but perhaps we can find an easier way than to shut him up with us in
an automobile."

"He wouldn't go, I'm sure," declared Myrtle. "He has mellowed a
little--a very little--as these roses prove. But he treated me last
night just as he does Mr. Merrick, even after our conversation. When
I s