“We know that, Mr. Jamieson; we do, indeed!”

“Nonsense!” said Eleanor, flushing, but not really displeased by the compliment, which was evidently sincere.  “I believe anyone would have done just what I did.”

“I wish I had your faith in human nature, Eleanor, but I haven’t and I know that mighty few people would have been willing to do it, even if they’d been able.  You’ve got to remember that, too.  Lots of people couldn’t have done what you did.  Well, I’ve got to be going.”

“You’ll call for us tomorrow, though, won’t you, Charlie, to take Zara to see her father?”

“Yes, indeed.  I won’t fail you.  He’s looking forward to it, and I’ve got an idea, or I hope, at least, that when he finds I’ve kept my promise and brought Zara to see him, he’ll feel more like trusting me.”

“I’m sure he will when I tell him how good you’ve been to us, Mr. Jamieson,” said Zara.

“Better not tell him about my goodness until I’ve done something beside talk, Zara.  But I’m going to do my best anyhow, and I’m sure things will come out right in the end.  Just keep smiling, be cheerful, and don’t worry any more than you can help.”

From the porch they watched him walk off down the street.  He carried himself like the athlete he was, and his broad shoulders and fine, free stride were those of a man who inspires confidence and trust, even in those who only see his back.

“Look!” said Zara, suddenly.  “Why is Jake Hoover going down that way?  And isn’t he acting queerly?”

“Why, I believe he’s following Mr. Jamieson!” said Bessie.  “See, he keeps getting behind trees and things, and he’s staying on the other side of the street.  Whenever Mr. Jamieson turns, Jake hides himself.”

Eleanor frowned thoughtfully.

“I think you’re right, Bessie,” she said.  “And I know what I’m going to do.  I’m going to telephone to his office and tell his clerk to slip out and meet him, so that he can warn him.  He ought to know about that.”

She went in hurriedly to use the telephone.

“I’m going upstairs to get my handkerchief,” said Zara.  “My, isn’t it warm?”

So Bessie was left alone on the piazza.  She was afraid of Jake Hoover; afraid of the mischief he might do, that is.  No longer was she afraid of him as she had been in the old days on the farm, when he had bullied her and made her the scapegoat for all the offences he could possibly load on her slim shoulders.  One night in the woods, when Bessie, wrapped in a sheet and playing ghost, had frightened Jake and his mischievous friends away before they could terrify the Camp Fire Girls as they lay asleep, had taught Bessie that Jake was a coward.

“It’s Zara they’re after—­not me,” Bessie thought to herself.  “I’ve been out alone ever and ever so often, and there’s no one here to hurt me.  I’m going to go after Jake myself, and try to see what he’s up to.”