Rifts

Before the birds had taken their heads from under their wings Miss Mercy Lane was up and crashing through the brambles on a hunt for "Red" McGonnigle.

It was a morning to thrill the soul of a taxi-cab driver, but it had no interest for Miss Mercy. The dew on the petals of the wild-rose, the opaline tints of a sweet-scented dawn meant nothing to that lady as, without a collar, her shirt-waist wrongly buttoned, her hair twisted into a hard "Psyche" knot, she searched for her enemy.

In her earnest desire to get in touch with Mr. McGonnigle as soon as possible, she clumped about, peering into the faces of the helpers, who had thrown their tarps down upon whatever spot looked a likely place for sleeping.

Pinkey she found without difficulty; also Mr. Hicks, who, awakened by the feeling that someone was looking at him, sat up and in a scandalized tone told her to go right away, from him. "Red" McGonnigle, however, whether by accident or premeditation, had repaired with his blankets to a bed-ground where the Almighty could not have found him with a spy-glass. In consequence, Wallie was awakened suddenly by the booming voice of Miss Mercy demanding to know Red's whereabouts.

Her lids were puffed as if she had not closed them, and through the slits her eyes gleamed at him. She looked so altogether formidable as she stood over him that his first impulse was to duck his head under the covers.