"Anyway, I do know where Jeems lives. Do you want me to get him for you, Charity?"
"Certainly not, child! Do you think that I'd let you go into the swamp? Why, even men who know something of woodcraft think twice before attempting such a trip without a guide. Of course you're not going! I think," she put her paint-stained hand to her head, "that I'm going to have one of my sick headaches. I'll have to go home and lie down for an hour or two."
"I'm sorry." Ricky's sympathy was quick and warm. "Is there anything I can do?"
Charity shook her head with a rueful smile. "Time is the only medicine for one of these. I'll see you later."
"Just the same," Ricky stood looking after her, "I'd like to know just what is going on in the swamp right now."
"Why?" Val asked lightly.
"Because—well, just because," was her provoking answer. "Jeems was so odd yesterday. He talked as if—as if there were some threat to us or him. I wonder if there is something wrong." She frowned.
"Of course not!" her brother made prompt answer. "He's merely gone off on one of those mysterious trips of his."
"Just the same, what if there were something wrong? We might go and see."
"Nonsense!" Val snapped. "You heard what Charity said about going into the swamp alone. And there is nothing to worry about anyway. Come on, let's change. And then I have something to show you."