dge. But his usual
joviality was gone. I saw that he glanced over his shoulder at
intervals, muttering darkly to himself. Also that a rabbit's foot
was slung conspicuously about his neck.

Having made my fudge and set the pan on a stone in the stream to
cool, I was about to retire with a view to conducting a limited
exploring expedition of my own. The immunity of the umbrellas and
the assurances of Mr. Shaw--not personally directed to me, of
course; the armed truce under which we lived did not permit of
that--had convinced me that I had not to dread anything more
ferocious than the pigs, and the wildest of them would retire
before a stick or stone. Besides, I boasted a little automatic,
which I carried strapped about my waist in a businesslike manner.
Mr. Vane had almost got me to the point where I could shoot it off
without shutting my eyes.

Thus equipped, I was about to set off into the woods. Secretly I
had been rehearsing a dramatic scene, with myself in the leading
role:

_Treasure-seekers assembled, including a cold and cynical Scot.
Enter Virginia Harding. She wears an expression elaborately
casual, but there is a light of concealed triumph in her eye_.

_Aunt Jane_: You thoughtless child, where have you been? Really,
my state of mind about you--etc., etc.

_V. H._: Only for a stroll, dear aunt. And by the way, in case
it's of interest to any one, I might mention that during my walk I
fell over a boulder which happened to be marked with the letters B.
H. and a cross-bones.

_Immense commotion and excitement. Every gaze turned to V. H.
(including that of cynical Scot) while on every cheek is the blush
of shame at remembering that this is the same Young Person whom
Miss Higglesby-Browne was permitted to cut off by treaty from the
ranks of the authorised treasure-seekers_.

Lured by this pleasing vision I had turned my back on Cookie and
the camp, when I was arrested by an exclamation:

"Miss Jinny!"

I turned to, find Cookie gazing after me with an expression which,
in the familiar phrase of fiction, I could not interpret, though
among its ingredients were doubt and anguish. Cookie, too, looked
pale. I don't in the least know how he managed it, but that was
the impression he conveyed, dusky as he was.

"Miss Jinny, it mos' look lak yo' 'bout to go perambulatin' in dese
yere woods?"

"I am, Cookie," I admitted.

The whites of Cookie's eyes became alarmingly conspicuous. Drawing
near