rest. On this occasion while the morning was still in its early
freshness he was permitting me to make fudge. But his usual
joviality was gone. I saw that he glanced over his shoulder at
intervals, muttering darkly to himself. Also that a rabbit's foot
was slung conspicuously about his neck.

Having made my fudge and set the pan on a stone in the stream to
cool, I was about to retire with a view to conducting a limited
exploring expedition of my own. The immunity of the umbrellas and
the assurances of Mr. Shaw--not personally directed to me, of
course; the armed truce under which we lived did not permit of
that--had convinced me that I had not to dread anything more
ferocious than the pigs, and the wildest of them would retire
before a stick or stone. Besides, I boasted a little automatic,
which I carried strapped about my waist in a businesslike manner.
Mr. Vane had almost got me to the point where I could shoot it off
without shutting my eyes.

Thus equipped, I was about to set off into the woods. Secretly I
had been rehearsing a dramatic scene, with myself in the leading
role:

_Treasure-seekers assembled, including a cold and cynical Scot.
Enter Virginia Harding. She wears an expression elaborately
casual, but there is a light of concealed triumph in her eye_.

_Aunt Jane_: You thoughtless child, where have you been? Really,
my state of mind about you--etc., etc.

_V. H._: Only for a stroll, dear aunt. And by the way, in case