“She’s a little devil, but she’s a tough one. She’s a tough little nut, that’s what she is. I wonder now if she’s makin’ a monkey out o’ me! Guess I’ll get some gas and take a try at Canada. Better to tend to such business myself. ’Taint safe to trust ta ennybody these days. Wonder now ef I could get a warrant. Guess not, seein’ it’s Canada. He’s a sharper all right. He lit out to a safe place all right with his dame. Guess I’ll have to go up. No other way. Have to put one over on him somehow and get him back where we can do something under the law of the United States.” He swelled himself proudly at that as if he himself were a worthy citizen. Then he went to one of his haunts to prepare for the journey. * * * * * In her little nightgown beside her bed little Lib Knox knelt down for perhaps the first time in her life to pray. She had not wanted her supper though there were griddle-cakes, and Lib dearly loved griddle-cakes. But she had something on her mind, and her primitive soul took the old, old way to the only Power she knew for help. “Oh, God,” she prayed, “that’s a bad man after my uncle, please, and I don’t know where he is. Won’t you just please take care of him? I don’t know what he wants, but Uncle Darcy ought to be told he’s coming, and I don’t know how to do it. Won’t you please try. I s’pose you can see in the dark and know where he is, and if you’ll just please hide him when that man comes I’ll be glad, and I’ll try to do something for you.” She half rose in the darkness, shivering in her little thin gown that was too short for her growing length. Then she slid down on one knee again and spoke in a whisper: “And say, God, you knew that was a lie I told, didn’t you? That about Quebec? I just got it outta my geography lesson we had today, you know. I thought I oughtta tell you, seeing you’re going to help. You won’t mind a lie for once, will you? You see I had to or he mightta killed me. You wouldn’t a wanted me killed, would you, God? Or else why did you make me? Besides, what would mother ’uv done? So please won’t you kill that naughty man if you can. If not, keep him away from me anyway. Good night.” Having paused a moment with a crown of moonlight on her little rebel curls, she crept into bed and was soon asleep. The next morning Lib awoke very early, and, procuring a paper and pencil from her geography, which she had placed under her bed the night before, she wrote in crooked little handwriting: “Dere Unkle Darcie: “Ther is a bad man cums hear to find out whar yo ar. He tuk me a rid on a motrsikle. I didunt lik it but I didunt let hym no. He thretend to kyl me if I didunt give hym yor adres, so I maid upp one and he brot me hom. I wisht that yoo wud cum home so I cud tak ker of yoo. It is offul hard takan ker when I dont no wher yoo ar. “I wisht yoo wer hear. It is lonesum. From Lib. P.S. I was skard, but he didunt no it.”