more," she comforted. "If he does, I'll end him. I will! I'll
bring the police. I'll show 'em the places where he hides his
whiskey. I'll--I'll put him in jail, if I die for it!"

The woman's bony hands clutched at one of Nada's.

"No, no, you mustn't do that," she pleaded. "He was good to me
once, a long time ago, Nada. It ain't Jed that's bad--it's the
whiskey. You mustn't tell on him, Nada--you mustn't!"

"I've promised you I won't--if he don't hit you any more. He kin
shake me by the hair if he wants to. But if he hits you--"

She drew a deep breath, and also passed around the end of the
cabin.

For a few moments Peter listened. Then he slipped back through the
tunnel he had made under the wood-vine, and saw Nada walking
swiftly toward the break in the ridge. He followed, so quietly
that she was through the break, and was picking her way among the
tumbled masses of rock along the farther foot of the ridge, before
she discovered his presence. With a glad cry she caught him up in
her arms and hugged him against her breast.

"Peter, Peter, where have you been?" she demanded. "I thought
something had happened to you, and I've been huntin' for you, and
so has Roger--I mean Mister Jolly Roger."

Peter was hugged tighter, and he hung limply until his mistress
came to a thick little clump of dwarf balsams hidden among the