Mr. Merrill, too, had something on his mind, and did not quite know how
to go on. There was in William Wetherell, as he sat in the chair with his
eyes fixed on his visitor's face, a dignity which Mr. Merrill had not
seen before--had not thought the man might possess.

"I was coming to see you, anyway," Mr. Merrill said.

"I did you a wrong--though as God judges me, I did not think of it at the
time. It was not until Alexander Duncan spoke to me last week that I
thought of it at all."

"Yes," said Wetherell.

"You see," continued Mr. Merrill wiping his brow, for he found the matter
even more difficult than he had imagined, "it was not until Duncan told
me how you had acted in his library that I guessed the truth--that I
remembered myself how you had acted. I knew that you were not mixed up in
politics, but I also knew that you were an intimate friend of Jethro's,
and I thought that you had been let into the secret of the woodchuck
session. I don't defend the game of politics as it is played, Mr.
Wetherell, but all of us who are friends of Jethro's are generally
willing to lend a hand in any little manoeuvre that is going on, and have
a practical joke when we can. It was not until I saw you sitting there
beside Duncan that the idea occurred to me. It didn't make a great deal
of difference whether Duncan or Lovejoy got to the House or not, provided
they didn't learn of the matter too early, because some of their men had
been bought off that day. It suited Jethro's sense of humor to play the
game that way--and it was very effective. When I saw you there beside
Duncan I remembered that he had spoken about the Guardian letters, and
the notion occurred to me to get him to show you his library. I have
explained to him that you were innocent. I--I hope you haven't been
worrying."

William Wetherell sat very still for a while, gazing out of the window,
but a new look had come into his eyes.

"Jethro Bass did not know that you--that you had used me?" he asked at
length.

"No," replied Mr. Merrill thickly, "no. He didn't know a thing about
it--he doesn't know it now, I believe."

A smile came upon Wetherell's face, but Mr. Merrill could not look at it.

"You have made me very happy," said the storekeeper, tremulously. "I--I
have no right to be proud--I have taken his money--he has supported my
daughter and myself all these years. But he had never asked me to--to do
anything, and I liked to think that he never would."

M