did not move from her position. Sol waited on his customers, at times eyeing the strange girl curiously. When the farmers had gone with their purchases he approached the barrel and examined his visitor with speculative care.

   "Want anything?"

   "Spool o' red cotton, number thirty."

   "Ain't got no red."

   "Green'll do."

   "Ain't got green. Only black an' white."

   "All right."

   "Want black or white?"

   "No."

   Sol leaned against the counter. He wasn't busy; the girl seemed in no hurry; it was a good time to gossip and find out all about the strange creature perched on his sugar-barrel.

   "Where'd ye come from?" he inquired.

   "City," tossing her head toward the north.

   "What for?"

   "To do sewing for the Hathaways folks. Mary Louise, you know."

   Sol pricked up his ears. The Hathaways were newcomers, about whom little was known. He wanted to know more, and here was a girl who could give him inside information.

   "Knowed the Hathaways in the city?"

   "Kind o'. Sewed on Mary Louise's spring dresses. How long you been here?"

   "Me? Why, I come here more'n twenty years ago. What does the Colonel do in the city?"

   "Never asked him. Why do they call this place Cragg's Crossing?"

   "I didn't name it. S'pose 'cause ol' Cragg used to own all the land, an' the roads crossed in the middle o' his farm."

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