"Exactly. That is why it has to be run into it—put on the track, so to speak. Well, I know what I am talking about. But if you are not interested——"
He turned as if to go. What if it could be true, and Tavia was throwing away the only chance she would ever have of learning the truth?
"Where did you want me to go?" she stammered.
"Meet me at the old stone bridge to-morrow at three, and I will convince you of the actuality of this wonderful inheritance—this inheritance which you so long have been deprived of—which you have been fleeced out of by my scheming Uncle Abe!"
His eyes flashed, and his voice trembled. Tavia thought she had never before seen such glassy eyes, and the way he fastened them on her gave her a most uncomfortable feeling. She even felt compelled to promise what he asked, and she did so.
He sauntered off, leaving the girl's head in a whirl. Who was he, and what did he know about her family?
He was right in his assertions about Dalton, also about her father. Surely there could be no harm in listening to his story, and the stone bridge was not far from camp.
Dorothy and Cologne were just appearing above the hill, Dorothy's yellow head bobbing up like some animated flower.
"Oh, you dreadful girl!" called Cologne. "We thought the gypsies had taken you."
"No such luck," answered Tavia, as the two came up to the apple tree. "But I did find some splendid apples. Help yourselves. I must sit down for a minute. I've been up the tree—no, up a tree," she finished with a laugh that neither of her companions understood.