"And you are going into the enemy's camp to-night?"
"Oh, Mary Louise is all right. She ain't like them other snippy girls that sometimes comes here to the big houses. She don't care if I am a Cragg, or if I talks country. I like Mary Louise."
When she had gone the old man sat in deep thought for a long time. The summer evening cast shadows; twilight fell; darkness gradually shrouded the bare little room. Still he sat in his chair, staring straight ahead into the gloom and thinking.
Then the door opened. Shifting his eyes he discovered a dim shadow in the opening. Whoever it was stood motionless until a low, clear voice asked sharply:
"Anybody home?"
He got up, then, and shuffled to a shelf, where he felt for a kerosene lamp and lighted it.
"Come in, Nan," he said without turning around, as he stooped over the lamp and adjusted the wick.
The yellow light showed a young woman standing in the doorway, a woman of perhaps thirty-five. She was tall, erect, her features well formed, her eyes bright and searching. Her walking-suit was neat and modish and fitted well her graceful, rounded form. On her arm was a huge basket, which she placed upon a chair as she advanced into the room and closed the door behind her.
"So you've come back," remarked Old Swallowtail, standing before her and regarding her critically.
"A self-evident fact, Dad," she answered lightly, removing her hat. "Where's Ingua?"