“How did you escape?”

“Well, I’ll tell you.  We chased him up across the boulevard and in among the tents, and then—­” Mrs. Strange lowered her voice until only a murmur reached the listening man.  A moment, then both women burst into shrill, excited laughter, and Blaze himself blushed furiously.

This was unbearable!  It was bad enough to have that woman in Jonesville, a constant menace to his good name, but to allow her access to his own home was unthinkable.  Sooner or later they were bound to meet, and then Paloma would learn the disgraceful truth—­ yes, and the whole neighborhood would likewise know his shame.  In fancy, Blaze saw his reputation torn to shreds and himself exposed to the gibes of the people who venerated him.  He would become a scandal among men, an offense to respectable women; children would shun him.  Blaze could not bear to think of the consequences, for he was very fond of the women and children of Jonesville, especially the women.  He rose from his hammock and tiptoed down the porch into the kitchen, from which point of security he called loudly for his daughter.

Alarmed at his tone, Paloma came running.  “What is the matter?” she asked, quickly.

“Get her out!” Blaze cried, savagely.  “Get shed of her.”

“Her?  Who?”

“That varmint.”

“Father, what ails you?”

“Nothin’ ails me, but I don’t want that caterpillar crawlin’ around my premises.  I don’t like her.”

Paloma regarded her parent curiously.  “How do you know you don’t like her when you’ve never seen her?”

“Oh, I’ve seen her, all I want to; and I heard her talkin’ to you just now.  I won’t stand for nobody tellin’ you—­bad stories.”

Paloma snickered.  “The idea!  She doesn’t—­”

“Get her out, and keep her out,” Blaze rumbled.  “She ain’t right; she ain’t—­human.  Why, what d’you reckon I saw her do, the other day?  Makes me shiver now.  You remember that big bull-snake that lives under the barn, the one I’ve been layin’ for?  Well, you won’t believe me, but him and her are friends.  Fact!  I saw her pick him up and play with him.  Who-Ee!  The goose-flesh popped out on me till it busted the buttons off my vest.  She ain’t my kind of people, Paloma.  ‘Strange’ ain’t no name for her; no, sir!  That woman’s dam’ near peculiar.”

Paloma remained unmoved.  “I thought you knew.  She used to be a snake-charmer.”

“A—­what?” There was no doubt about it.  Blaze’s hair lifted.  He blinked through his big spectacles; he pawed the air feebly with his hands.  “How can you let her touch you?  I couldn’t.  I’ll bet she carries a pocketful of dried toads and—­and keeps live lizards in her hair.  I knew an old voodoo woman that ate cockroaches.  Get shed of her, Paloma, and we’ll fumigate the house.”

At that moment Mrs. Strange herself opened the kitchen door to inquire, “Is anything wrong?” Misreading Blaze’s expression for one of pain, she exclaimed:  “Mercy!  Now, what have you done to yourself?”