t occurred was the amazing sight of Jan-an nimbly
climbing into the window of Larry's kitchen! Jan-an had either pried
the sash up or Larry had been careless. Northrup went up to the house
and listened. Jan-an was moving rapidly about inside and presently she
lighted a lamp, and through the slit between the shade and the window
ledge Northrup could watch the girl's movements.

Jan-an wore an old coat, a man's, over a coarse nightgown; her hair
straggled down her back; her vacant face was twitching and worried,
but a decent kind of dignity touched it, too. She was bent upon a
definite course, but was confused and uncertain as to details.

Over the papers scattered on the table Jan-an bent like a hungry beast
of prey. Her long fingers clutched the loose sheets; her devouring
eyes scanned them, compared them with others, while over and again a
muttered curse escaped the girl's lips.

Northrup took a big chance. He went to the door and tapped.

He heard a quick, frightened move toward the window--Jan-an was
escaping as she had entered. As the sash was raised, Northrup was
close to the window and the girl reeled back as she saw him.

"Jan-an," he said quietly, controllingly, "let me in. You can trust
me. Let me in."

Poor Jan-an was in sore need of someone in whom she might trust and
she could not afford to waste time. She raised the sash again, climbed
in, and then opened the door. Northrup entered and locked the door
after him.

"Now, then," he said, sitting opposite to the girl who dropped, rather
than seated herself, in her old place. "Jan-an, what are you up to?"

To his surprise, the girl burst into tears.

"My God," she moaned, "what did I have feelin's for--and no sense? I
can't read!" she blurted. "I can't read."

This was puzzling, but Northrup saw that the girl had confidence in
him--a desperate, unknowing confidence that had grown slowly.

"Why do you want to read, Jan-an?" he asked in a low, kindly tone.

"I know you ain't his friend, are you?" The wet, pitiful face was
lifted. Old fears and distrust rose grimly.

"Whose?"

"Maclin's, ole divil-man Maclin?"

"Certainly not! You know better than to ask that, Jan-an."

"Nor his--Larry Rivers?"

"No, I am not his friend."

Thus reassured once more, Jan-an ventured nearer:

"You don't aim to hurt--her?"

"Whom do you mean?" Northrup was perplexed by the growing intelligence
in the face across the table. It was like a slow revealing of a
gro