turn into a sob unless he could swallow it. Could this little elfin creature belong to him? She certainly did not in the least resemble any Taylor that he had ever seen. The Taylors were a stalwart race and as blond as blond could be. There had never been a dark-eyed one in the family that he had known of, although he had heard his father say his grandmother had been a brunette.
The Major looked quizzically from the child to her companion, who stood hat in hand, apparently considering the business in hand to be none of his affair. Although his father's farm was just across the river from Mill House, Philip Bolling's acquaintance with his neighbors had been of the slightest. As a boy he had occasionally been sent to Mill House on an errand, but he had not been there for years, and he realized that he was not recognized by any of them. Little Rebecca had awakened his deepest sympathies and he was determined to see her through her difficulties—even to take her home with him if her own family would have none of her, but he felt it wisest to play the role of casual bystander until the Taylors declared themselves. Although his acquaintance with them was slight, he was well aware of the peculiarities of the Mill House folks. Every-
