vicious life of that world wherein he is most at home.

With no word of greeting, he said, with that superior air which so many
city folk assume when addressing those who live in the country: "Have
you people any fresh vegetables or eggs to sell?"

Brian and Betty Jo arose, and Brian, stepping forward, said, with a
smile: "No, we have nothing to sell here; but I think our neighbor, Mr.
Warden, just over the hill, would be glad to supply you. Won't you come
in?"

The man stared at Brian, turned an appraising eye on Betty Jo; then
looked curiously about the room.

"I beg your pardon," he said, removing his cap, "I thought, when I
spoke, that you were natives. My name is Green,--Harry Green. There is
a party of us stopping at the clubhouse, up the river, there;--just out
for a bit of a good time, you know. We are from St. Louis,--first time
any of us were ever in the Ozarks,--friends of mine own the clubhouse."

"My name is Burns," returned Brian. "We noticed your boats on the river.
You are enjoying your outing, are you?"

Again the man looked curiously from Brian to Betty Jo. "Oh, yes; we
can stand it for awhile," he answered. "We're a pretty jolly bunch, you
see;--know how to keep things going. It would kill me if I had to live
here in this lonesome hole very long, though. Don't you find it rather
slow, Mrs. Burns?"

Poor Betty Jo's face turned fairly crimson. She could neither answer the