"Brother comin'?"

"I do not see him."

"What's your name?"

The tramp was inquisitive.

"Vane."

"Eh? Is that a fact?"

The stout fellow started and regarded the girl fixedly.

"Is the name a familiar one?" questioned the girl after a moment, anxious
to conciliate the man. Her nearest neighbor was at least a quarter mile
distant, and the house was concealed by a clump of trees, so that the
girl felt that she was at the mercy of this burly, ill-looking stranger,
should he attempt violence.

"Vane, Vane," he muttered. "Reckon I've heard the name before. And you're
Victory, I reckon?"

"Victoria."

"Exactly. Sister to Rance Vane. I know'd that chap onct, and I found him
not a man, but a scamp. I never liked the Vanes, father'n son. The old
man's dead, I s'pose?"

"Yes."