It might have been Bud’s action that brought the smile to Miss Harlan’s face, or it might have been that she had forgiven Taylor. But at any rate Taylor read the smile correctly, and he succeeded in looking properly repentant when he felt Miss Harlan’s gaze upon him. “I won’t play any more tricks—on you,” he declared. “You ain’t holding it against me?” “If you will promise not to harm Bud,” she said. “That goes,” he agreed, and went into the house to get his discarded boot. When he reappeared, Miss Harlan was again seated in the chair. Swiftly her thoughts had reverted to the incident of the night before, and her face was wan and pale, and her lips pressed tightly together in a brave effort to repress the emotions that rioted within her. In spite of her courage, and of her determination not to let Taylor know of what had happened to her, her eyes were moist and her lips quivering. He stepped close to her and peered sharply at her, standing erect instantly, his face grave. “Shucks!” he said, accusingly; “I wouldn’t be called hospitable—now, would I? Standing here, talking a lot of nonsense, and you—you must have started _early_ to get here by this time!” Again he flashed a keen glance at her, and his voice leaped. “Something has happened, Miss Harlan! What is it?” She got up again and faced him, smiling, her eyes shining mistily through the moisture in them. She was almost on the verge of tears, and her voice was tremulous when she answered: “Mr. Taylor, I—I have come to ask if you—still—if your offer about the Arrow is still open—if—I could stay here—myself and Martha; if I could accept the offer you made about giving me father’s share of the Arrow. For—for—I can’t go back East—to Westwood, and I won’t stay in the Huggins house a minute longer!” “Sure!” he said, with a grim smile, aware of her profound emotion; aware, too, that something had gone terribly wrong with her—to make her accept what she had once considered charity—an offer made out of his regard for her father. “But, look here,” he added. “What’s wrong? There’s something——” “Plenty, Mr. Squint.” This was Martha. She had been awake for some little time, sitting back with her eyes closed, listening. She was now sitting erect, her eyes shining with eagerness to tell all she knew of the night’s happenings. “Plenty, Mr. Squint,” she repeated, paying no attention to Miss Harlan’s sharp, “Martha!” “That big rapscallion, Carrington, has been makin’ things mighty mis’able for Missy Harlan. He come to the house las’ night an’ bust the door down, tryin’ to git at missy, an’ she’s run away from him like a whitehead. Then, when he finds he can’t diskiver where I hide missy he run the hosses off an’ we have to walk heah. That’s all, Mr. Squint, ’ceptin’ that me an’ missy doan stay in that house no more—if we have to walk East—all the way!”