The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1913-09-16

with the Winchester merely added
mystery to mystery. Just within the
luXuriously furnished hall, where the
light of the hall lantern served to
heighten the artistic effect of her dark
red house gown, stood a woman, evil
IDENTITY the mistress of the Georgian
mansion. She was rather small and
dark, with brown eyes that were al
most chiIdIike in their winsomeness, a
woman who might be twenty or thirty
or any age between.
what is it, BartoP' the little lady
asked, turning to the man with the
gun.
The reply was direct and to the pur-
pose.
Excuse me, but jest wanted to
ask if you know this young teller
here. He allows he is''-
"Of course she said quickly, com
ing forward without hesitation to give
her hand to the dazed one. ''Please
come in. We have been expecting
you.'' Then again to the man with
the Winchester, "Thank you, Barto,
for showing the gentleman the way to
Wartrace HALL
1t was all done so quietly that
Blount was still awkwardly holding
the hand Of welcoming when his late
captors were riding away down the
cottonwood shaded avenue. When he
realized what he was doing he was as
nearly embarrassed as Patricia An
ners' lover could well be. But his i'm
promptu hostess quickly set him at
ease.
you needn't, make any explana-
tfons,'' she fastened to say, smiling up
at him and gently disengaging the
hand which he was vStill forgetting to
relinquish "Of course 1 saw that
you were in trouble of some kind and
that your safety depended in some
sense upon my answer What can I
do for your"
81 was on my way to the capital
when these men held me up he STAN
mered. ''They-they mistook me for
some one else I think, and for reasons
best known to themselves they brought
me here. If you could direct me to
some place where can get a nights
lodging
ffThere is nothing like tavern with
in twenty miles of here she broke in,
"nor is there any house within that
radius which would refuse you a
nights shelter, Mr.
B1ount made a quick dive for his
cardcase, found it and fastened to in
troduce himself by name. She took the
bit of pastebosrd, and since she scarce
ly glanced at the engraved line on it
he found himself wholly unable to in
terpEet the smile she gave him in re-
turn
1.-THE card is hardly necessary she
said, and then, tG his complete bewi1-
derment, 'fYou are very like your ia
Their, Mr.. Blount.''
''You know my father!' he exclaimed.
She laughed softly every one
knows the senator. And can assure
you that his son is very welcome un-
der this roof. Uncle Barnabas"-to the
ancient serving man, who was still
lowering in the ackground-''have Mr..
Blount's horse put up and the blue
room made ready"
Blount followed the hostess, who was
still unnamed to him, obediently when
she led the way to the lighted library
in the wing of the great house.
"Uncle Barnabas will come for you
presently" she explained. F1n the
b}eantime let me make you a cup of
tea I am sure you must be needing
it if you have ridden far. Take the
easy chair, and we can talk while the
kettle is boiling. Are you new to the
west, Mr. Blount? Or is this only
return to your own? The senator is
always talking about you, but he is
so proud Of you that he forgets to tell
US the really interesting things that
we want to know
The serving man took his own time
about coming back for the guest, 50
long time that Blount forgot that it
was past midnight, that he was
guest in a strange house and that he
n xnf ma of
tertafner
For all this forgetfuiness the little
lady with the dark brown eyes was
directly responsible. Almost before he
knew it B1ount found himself chatting
companionably with her and finding
her charmingly responsive in what
ever field the talk happened to fall.
The white haired old butler came at
last to show him the way to his luxu-
rious lodgings on the second floor Of
the mansion.
With touch of hospitality which
carried Blount back to his one winter
in the south, the hostess went with
him as far as the stair foot, and her
Good night was still ringing must
caI1y-in his ears when the old negro
lighted the acetylene in the guest
room. put another stick of wood on
CQ0 Small IRE IRdL WAS CEdCk111S anu
swapping cheerfu11y on the hearth and
bobbed and bowed his way to the
door.
BIount saw his last chance for bet
ter information vanishing for the
night and once more broke with the
traditions.
''Uncle Barnabas, suppose you tell
me where am before you co. he
suggested. Whose house is this?''
The old man stopped on the thresh-
old, chuckling gleefully. "A-ain't you
know dat, sahP A-ain't Mis- Honoria
done tell you dat? You's at Wa'trace
Hall, Mahsteh Majah's country house.
Yes, sab, OATS whah you is-kee, hee!'
'.And who is Master Maori - press
ed B1ount, whose bewilderment grew
with ave1.v fresh aftennf TO diSDeI If