Mary looked down at her mother and spoke
quietly.
"I think it is time you knew that I wrote those articles. One writes about
what one sees, and as long as I remain here I shall see Mudford."
"Pardon me," began the young man, arriving, "but is this Colonel Martin's
house?"
Mrs. Martin made no effort to reply and Mary reassured him.
"It's like this," he continued frankly. "I'm representing _The Daily
Rebel_, and I'm awfully anxious to get certain information for my paper. I
was speaking to Admiral Rogers just now and he told me I should probably
get it here if I tried. He said he could only give me a guess himself and I
had better come to headquarters. Madam," he bowed towards Mrs. Martin,
"will you kindly tell me if you are the famous ..."
Here Mary interposed. "My mother," she said serenely, "is not the Mudford
Blight. Nor is my father."
The young man wheeled on her.
"Then you ...?" he queried.
Mary hesitated, questioning her mother with a glance.
"My daughter," replied Mrs. Martin in a strangled voice, "cannot possibly
be the person you seek since she is not a Mudford resident. She lives in
London and is only staying here till to-morrow--at the latest."
Mary smiled radiantly and sent a wire later in the afternoon.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Young Miner's Mother_. "I CAN'T DO NOTHINK WIV OUR 'ERBERT
SINCE 'E VOTED FOR THE STRIKE. WEN I ASK 'IM TO RUN A ERRAND 'E SAYS IT
ISN'T A MAN'S JOB.
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