Part 8 (2/2)

”My name is Landis,” she answered. ”Marjorie Landis. Is Fleming County very large?”

”No-no. Not very large. And where did you live before you came here?”

”With mother.” It seemed to be her turn for evasion. ”I presume,” she continued, ”that you know all the people in the county?”

He wondered if, by some chance, she knew people there, if she was going to pin him down to persons and definite places in Fleming County.

”No, indeed,” he answered. ”You see, I haven't been there all the time.”

”I never was very good at geography,” she began apologetically. ”Where is Fleming County?”

”Oh, it is in the southern part of the state,” he said. He decided to study the first map he could get his hands upon.

”Let's do as we used to do in school,” she said. ”Bound Fleming County for me.”

Tom decided that he hated all girls, and Miss Marjorie Landis in particular. She had trapped him, easily and pleasantly.

He forced himself to laugh, and the laugh sounded mirthlessly in his ears. ”Oh, I've forgotten,” he said. ”I can't remember what counties are around us there. I wonder when this rain will stop? We'll have to build us an ark if it keeps on much longer. Wouldn't a war on an ark be a strange thing? The ark would keep turning in the current-the North would become the South and the South would become the North, and so rapidly that we wouldn't know which side we were fighting on. Do you think we'd have to stop and change uniforms every time the ark turned?” He arose and went to the window. ”I wonder if my poor horse is getting rested! It's a pity to ride him again this afternoon. Perhaps I'd better go out and see him.”

She, too, arose. ”Never mind about the horse, Mr. Burns,” she said. ”You'd much better be studying geography! Wait here a moment.”

She turned and ran up the stairs. Tom, his head pounding, watched her disappear. What was she going to do, now that she had trapped him? Of course she knew that he had not been telling the truth. Presently she returned with a book under her arm. Scarcely glancing at him, she approached, opened the book-it was a geography-turned the pages to a map of Kentucky.

”There!” she said. He looked at her, rather than the book. ”No-study it.”

He did as she bade him-and found Fleming County in the north-eastern part of the state. It had been a bad guess. Then he glanced at the names of the counties surrounding it.

”But why....” he began.

”Give me the map!” she demanded. ”Now can you remember them!”

”But....”

”Please! Say them-the counties!”

”Lewis, Carter, Morgan, Bath, Nicholas, Mason.”

As the door opened and Mr. Beecham entered, they turned. ”Mr. Burns has been showing me on the map where he lives,” said Miss Marjorie sweetly.

”Ah, yes-ah, yes,” answered Mr. Beecham. ”Ah, yes, indeed.”

Tom scarcely heard him, or saw him.

”Your horse will be ready to carry you in a few hours, I think,” said Mr.

Beecham. ”You must have ridden him easily, sir.”

”I didn't press him harder than was necessary,” responded Tom.

”I tell you,” announced Mr. Beecham, divesting himself of his storm coat, ”it takes a Southern man to get the most out of horse flesh, without hurting the horse. A good reason for the superiority of our cavalry! I trust you are going to join the cavalry.”

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