Chicken Little sputtered volubly to the dogs but the stream flowed placidly on. There was nothing for it, but to take off her shoes and stockings a second time, and wade. By the time she had laced them, she remembered having heard Frank say that the creek was very winding here and kept doubling back on its tracks. She was in for it, now, she decided, and might as well go ahead. It was long past noon. She was getting hungry. She did hope the woman-hater would offer her something to eat. She felt a little doubtful about her looks. Sitting down on the damp earth had left sundry grass stains and one long black streak on the dainty blue lawn, and her hair was wind blown, and mussed where some twigs had caught and pulled it. Once more Jane unlaced those exasperating shoes, drying her feet on a woefully limp and dirty handkerchief. This time she lazily wound the lacings around her ankles until she could be sure the creek was safely behind her. Presently she heard the cackling of hens and the grunting of pigs that assured her she was nearing somebody's farmyard. "Gee, but I'm glad!" she muttered thankfully. She sat down and laced her boots neatly, then smoothing her hair and ironing out her rumpled dress with nimble fingers, she struck off joyfully in the direction of the sounds. She was approaching the house from the rear and the barn and out-buildings were soon visible through the trees. She hurried forward joyfully only to be confronted by that horrible creek flowing once more between her and her goal. Chicken Little didn't often lose her temper completely, but this was the last straw. "Darn," she exclaimed spitefully, "darn you, you old creek, I'd like to beat you. I won't take my shoes off again! I just won't!" She scanned the bank carefully to see if she could find any rock or log to help her out. Nothing available could be seen, but help appeared from a most unlooked for quarter. A tall, severe-looking man rose from a rustic seat behind a tree which had hidden him. "Can I be of any service, Miss?" he asked courteously. With an awful sinking of the heart she realized this must be Captain Clarke himself. Oh! and he must have heard her swear. Chicken Little turned the color of a very ripe strawberry and stared at him in horror. A faint flicker of amusement lighted the man's face. "Just wait an instant and I will put a board over for you, if you wish to cross." Jane distinctly did not wish to cross this particular moment. She wished to run home. "Oh, I--I--please don't go to any trouble, I oughtn't to be here, and please I didn't mean to swear but--but--Mother would be dreadfully ashamed of me if she knew." She was telling the whole truth most unexpectedly to herself. Captain Clarke surveyed her sharply but his voice seemed kind. "You must be Dr. Morton's daughter. Did you get lost?"