“Jim, these girls wants some peaches,” said the woman. “Will you go out and pick them a basket?”
“A dollar’s worth,” explained Marjorie, biting into her doughnut.
The man nodded his head slowly, and then turned around and carefully closed the wooden door and bolted it.
“First of all,” he drawled, “will you answer me one question. Be either of yez by any chance Margie Wilkison?”
Marjorie dropped her doughnut into her lap in amazement. How could this man possibly know her name? But she never thought for a moment of attempting to conceal her identity. So she answered unhesitatingly.
“Yes, my name is Marjorie Wilkinson. Why?”
The old man squinted one eye, and, glorying in the completeness of his disguise, looked into her face.
“You know why as good as I do, young leddy! They’s no use pretendin’!”
At these words both girls sprang up instantly. There was something queer about the old creature—something uncanny! Both girls shuddered involuntarily, and with a common purpose started for the door, leaving their half-finished doughnuts on the table.
But the man held up his hand. He had no intention of allowing them to escape thus easily.