Something moved in the chaparral clump above him. He turned, and saw two small brown-feathered birds emerge. “Quail!” he said under his breath. He reached for the gun, aimed quickly, and fired. Instantly mingled cries went up: the frightened gobbling of grown turkeys, the pitiful cheeps of a young bird as it tumbled about in the grass, and, louder than these, the wailing plea of a girl--“Oh! oh! don’t shoot!” Then, racing down upon him, came Vincenza, her hat gone, her dark hair flying, her face white with anxiety for her flock. There he stood, red-handed, the gun in his grasp, the injured chick at his feet. She saw the little crumpled victim now, and with a pitiful sob sank down and took it into her lap. “Ah! poor Maria!” she wept, smoothing a stained wing. “Vincenza,” pleaded Austin, putting the gun aside and kneeling beside her, “I didn’t mean to do it. I thought it was a quail. Oh, I’m so sorry. Listen. I’ll make the loss up a thousand times. Come, _please_ don’t cry.” The chaparral crashed above him. He stood up--in time to meet the angry black eyes of a stalwart young man, who came panting upon the scene, carrying Vincenza’s hat. “What’s the matter?” demanded the newcomer. “My Vincenza, are you hurt? This fool has been shooting.” And lifting the girl up, he held her, as if in defence, against his breast. [Instantly Austin divined why the mistress of High Court had no need to belittle the turkey-girl!] “No, no, Guido,” Vincenza sobbed protestingly, “he is not a fool.” “He kills the turkeys,” went on Guido, glaring at Austin. “Say, Mister, what’s the matter with you?” “I’ll make it right,” Austin answered in a low voice. “The devil!” began Guido, almost shaking Vincenza in his wrath. “But she loves each little one.” Vincenza interrupted him. A slim hand came up and settled determinedly upon his mouth. “Guido,” she entreated, “do not be so mad. I would have to sell them all before the wedding, would I not? And Maria was so young--she was not worth two-bits. Only”--plaintively--“she dies a little sooner.” “Well, anyhow,” went on Guido, not a whit pacified, “I like to know why you hang around and hang around here all the time. Vincenza, she is mine, and I do not----” Again, the girl interrupted. This time, she stepped back a little, holding her lover at arm’s length and smiling at him through her tears. “Oh, poor Guido,” she cried teasingly, with a swift look toward Austin. “What you think? He is jealous! And of this kind old gentleman!” Austin involuntarily straightened, and his head jerked back as if from a blow. The doubts that had troubled him were settled. Truth had spoken. He took out a bulging leather purse, opened it, and let a dozen shining fives run into his hand. Then, his sensitive face pale, his look subdued, he held out the money to Guido. The young Italian received it with something short of a bow, and proffered it to Vincenza. “Here,” he said soothingly.