flowers to a row; I
counted them over seven times before I could be sure. Well, I was sick
again after that, I don't know how long; some kind of fever. When I got
up again something was gone out of me, something that had kept me honest
till then. I made up my mind that I would get money somehow, I didn't
much care how. I thought of you, and the gold counters you used to let
Arthur and me play with, so that we might learn not to think too much of
money. You remember? I thought I might get some of those, and you might
not miss them. You didn't need them, anyhow, I thought. Yes, I knew you
would give them to me if I asked for them, but I wasn't going to ask. I
came here to-night to see if there was any man or dog about the house.
If not, I meant to slip in by and by at the pantry window; I remembered
the trick of the spring. I forgot Jocko. There! now you know all. You
ought to give me up, Mrs. Tree, but you won't do that."

"No, I won't do that!" said the old woman.

She looked at him thoughtfully. His eyes were wandering about the room,
a painful pleasure growing in them as they rested on one object after
another. Beautiful eyes they were, in shape and color--if the light were
not gone out of them.

"The bead puppy!" he said, presently. "I can remember when we wondered
if it could bark. We must have been pretty small then. When did Arthur
die, Mrs. Tree? I hadn't heard--I supposed he was still in Europe."

"Two years ago."

"Was it--" something seemed to choke the man.

"Fretting for her?" said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "No, it wasn't. He found
her out before you did, Willy. He knew you'd find out, too; he knew who
was to blame, and that she turned your head and set you crazy. 'Be good
to old Will if you ever have a chance!' that was one of the last things
he said. He had grippe, and pneumonia after it, only a week in all."

Jaquith turned his head away. For a time neither spoke. The fire purred
and crackled comfortably in the wide fireplace. The heat brought out the
scent of the various woods, and the air was alive with warm perfume.
The dim, antique richness of the little parlor seemed to come to a point
in the small, alert figure, upright in the ebony chair. The firelight
played on her gleaming satin and misty laces, and lighted the fine lines
of her wrinkled face. Very soft the lines seemed now, but it might be
the light.

"Arthur Blyth taken and Will Jaquith left!" said the young man, softly.
"I wonder if God alw