of recent tears on the little girl's face, and a most depressed expression. "Whar's Copley? Whar's yer uncle Cop?" he demanded, looking hastily about the shadowy place. She paused to roll up her work methodically, and thrust the knitting-needles through the ball of yarn. "He ain't hyar," she said, lifting reproachful eyes; "an' he ain't been hyar since ye been gone." He stared down at her in silent surprise. "Ye jes' went off an' lef' me an' Joe hyar by ourse'fs, an' we been mos' skeered ter death," she added, with a sob. A sudden apprehension crossed Taft's face. "I lef Cop hyar. Ain't he been in ter git his vittles?" She shook her head. "Did ye call him in the store?" She nodded. "Mebbe he war in the barn." "I blowed the hawn fur him; he ain't eat a mite sence ye been gone." Taft turned hastily toward the door, his florid face paling. Then he turned back. "Whar's Joe?" "He hev runned away!" cried Sis, with a burst of sobs. "Las' night we-uns hearn sech a cur'ous hurrah--somewhar--I dunno--sech cur'ous talk an' hollerin' 'way down in the groun'--an'--an'--diggin'--an'"-- He had paused, looking amazed at her. Then his face changed, with a sort of aghast certainty upon it. "Jes' some boys diggin' in the Lost Time mine," he urged, however, plausibly. "But--but"--she protested--"Joe, _he_ say, they--they air--_dead_." She looked at him, hoping for some sufficient adult denial of this terrible fantasy; but his face betokened only its confirmation, and she fell to shivering and sobbing afresh. "Whenst it got so turrible in the middle o' the night, Joe, he looked out'n the winder upsteers, an' the moon hed riz. An' he clomb down by the tree. He 'lowed he wouldn't bide no mo' an' listen. So he jes' skun the cat out'n the winder. He war 'feared." And once more she covered her face with her hands and wept. Nevertheless, between her fingers, as the tears trickled down them, she furtively surveyed him. "Wunst," she said tentatively, "I 'lowed 'twar revenuers. An' then I wisht 'twar. I hed ruther hev hearn _them_ 'n--'n--dead ones." His countenance did not change a muscle. She was now alarmed by her own temerity. In the long ordeal of solitude and fright she had lost control of her small nerves, or she would not have overstepped her habitual caution so far. "Revenuers arter what?" he demanded. His incidental, unconcerned manner reassured her. "Arter the 'wild-cat,' I reckon," she hazarded. He affected to consider the suggestion. "Some boys _mought_ be talkin' 'bout startin' a still down thar in the Lost Time mine. I'll roust 'em out mighty quick, ef they do! Ef thar's enny whiskey sold round hyar, I'm countin' on doin' it out'n my store, sure. I got a license ter sell." She looked at him narrowly, suspiciously, hardly more credulous than he himself.