“We know your mind isn’t just right. We’ll make allowances. But you must come home. You shall not stay here with that drunken, blasphemous old scoundrel — ”

“Were you by any chance referring to me, Mister Stirling?” demanded Roaring Abel, suddenly appearing in the doorway of the back verandah where he had been smoking a peaceful pipe and listening to “old Jim Stirling’s” tirade with huge enjoyment. His red beard fairly bristled with indignation and his huge eyebrows quivered. But cowardice was not among James Stirling’s shortcomings.

“I was. And, furthermore, I want to tell you that you have acted an iniquitous part in luring this weak and unfortunate girl away from her home and friends, and I will have you punished yet for it —