Lida's thoughts were running parallel with her reading, and she remembered that, in those letters of hideous arraignment which she had found in her mother's effects, Echford Flagg's own spelling was fantastically original. But under the layers of ugly malediction she had found pathos: he said that he'd had no schooling of his own, and on that account had been led to turn his business over to the better but dishonest ability of Alfred Kennard. Reading on, she could picture the scene--the two old men toiling with pathetic earnestness over the task of preparing that letter; here and there, the words only partially deleted by lines run across them, were evidences that in his flustration under the master's vitriolic complaints, old Dick had confused comment with dictated matter--and had included comment in his unthinking haste to get everything down. Three times a "Dam your pelt" had been written and crossed out. He tell you I knew you when I gave you my old cant dog. Lida gasped when she read the blunt declaration. She might have guessed that Echford Flagg would have repulsed a stranger; he had disguised his true sentiments under the excuse of an old man's whim! I let you go. It was making a squair deal between you and me. Nicola sent me a man to tell me how you had gorn north with his men and so I took Dick back after I had fired him. It was at this point that a particularly prominent "Dam your pelt" was interjected. The old fool would have blabbed to me what you told him to keep quiet about. He aint fit to be trusted with any secrits. But he was scard to tell me you was Lida. I told him. But the Comas helyun has gorn past here with men and guns. Let him have the logs. I want you, my granddaughter. Come home. Tears flooded her eyes. "Come home!" Old Dick had printed those words in bold letters. This is in haist but he has been 2 hours writtin it and so I send Jeff to bring you. Dont wait. Kepe away from danjur. Come home. And old Dick, the toiling scribe, had smuggled in at the bottom of the sheet a postscript, a vicarious confession which Echford Flagg did not know how to make, "Hese cryin and monein for you. Come home!" It was as if those two summoning words were spoken in her ear, plaintively and quaveringly. She ran from the tent, carrying her little bag and the cant dog scepter of the Flaggs. "Can you start back at once?" she called to Jeff. "Aye! It's orders." She saw Latisan at the shore, directing the movements of the men; he was once more the drive master, his cant dog in his hand, terse in his commands, obeyed in his authority. He pulled off his cap and walked to meet her when she hastened toward him. "I'm going back to Adonia." "My guess was right, you see!" "Are you coming soon to report?--Shall I tell my grandfather----" She halted in her query as if she were regretting the eagerness in her tone.