delicate creature and thinking of the rough, coarse man.

"Not this time," the girl replied. "Sometimes they strike me and then
I am afraid. Only there is one thing I shall never, never do, no
matter how much they beat me. I can not remember everything, but I
know that I will not do this one thing."

"What is it?" asked Phil. "Whom do you mean by 'they,' and what do
'they' wish you to do?"

The girl shook her head. "I can not tell you." She shuddered, and
Phil felt she had no right to insist on knowing.

"I like to hide in this tent," the girl went on sorrowfully. "I come
here whenever I can get away from the others. I would like to stay
here always. But, now he has found me, there is no place where I can
rest."

"Have you a mother, or brothers and sisters?" Phil asked.

"There is the man's second wife, but she is not my mother. She has
many little children. I think I must be very old. I seem to have
lived such a long time."

"Can't you remember your own mother?" Phil inquired.

The girl shook her head mournfully. "I can remember nothing," she said
again. "Don't go," she begged, as Phil rose to leave her. "I have
never known a girl like you before."