have few travelers along this road. There was a Mr. Charles, of Floyd
County. Isn't that just east of Fleming County!"

"No," answered Tom, "Carter County is on our east." He glanced at Miss
Marjorie. She was watching him intently, alive to the dangerous ground he
was treading.

"Ah, yes," answered Mr. Beecham, "so it is--so it is. Let me see the
geography a moment, dear." Miss Marjorie gave him the book, opened to the
map of Kentucky. "Quite so--quite so. Floyd County is here." He pointed.

"Yes," answered Tom. "Does there seem to be any chance of the storm ending,
sir?"

The weather provided a safer subject of conversation, which lasted for
nearly a half-hour. Then Tom became intensely interested in Mr. Beecham's
estate, and the difficulties of handling crops in war time. Miss Marjorie
sat near them, sewing. Tom would have given everything he possessed for two
minutes alone with her. Why was she befriending him? He asked the question
over and over again.

It was decided that one of Mr. Beecham's servants should go with Tom to the
ferry landing. The servant, carrying a note from Mr. Beecham to the
ferryman, would show him the way, and, more than that, it would be
additional proof to the ferryman that Mr. Beecham was especially desirous
of Tom's being taken across the river. "Then I'll know if old Jones who
runs the ferry does as I tell him to do," explained Mr. Beecham. "They
don't like to cross when the river's high."

Dinner was served, and still Tom had no opportunity to speak with Marjorie