was thick as a blanket there. Yet plunge through it, Peggy knew she must.
Still holding the child tightly, she bravely entered the dense smother,
stooping as low as she dared.

But before she had taken more than two steps in the obscurity, a dreadful
feeling, as if a hand was at her throat and choking her, overcame the
girl. She tried to call out, but she could not. Her head was reeling, her
eyes blinded. All at once something in her head seemed to snap with a loud
report. Still clutching her little burden tightly, Peggy plunged forward
dizzily--and knew no more.




CHAPTER VI.

FARMER GALLOWAY'S "SAFE DEPOSIT."


When she came to herself again, it was in a confusion of voices and sounds
of hurrying footsteps. She was lying on a lounge in a stuffy "best"
parlor, which smelled as moldy as "best" parlors in farm-houses are wont
to do. Bending over her was the angular woman who had entered just as the
bolt of lightning, that had caused all the trouble, struck the house.

"Is--is the baby all right?" asked Peggy, as she took in her surroundings.

"Yes, thanks to you, my dear. Oh, how can I ever thank you?" exclaimed the
woman, a thrill of real gratitude in her voice. "And the fire is out, too.
My husband and his men had been at work in a distant field and were