ation of the mysterious aid which had
so helped at the mills and so puzzled Mrs. Ann. Why had he talked to her?
He himself could not have told why. As he stood at the fire he went on
talking, while she made her quick mental comments.

"You call it noble. It is a rather strange thing; but to go to a friend
in financial despair with a cheque-book is a test of friendship before
which many friendships fail. Before my uncle left me rich beyond my
needs, I had an unpleasant experience on a small scale, but it was a
useful example in the conduct of life." He paused for a moment, and then
said, "I shall try the Squire again."

"I think you will fail--I know Uncle Jim. But what you tell me--is it
very bad? I mean, is he--are the mills--likely to fail?"

"That depends as I see it on the summer nominations and the fall
elections, and their result no one can predict. The future looks to me
full of peril."

"But why?" she asked, and had some surprise when he said, "I have lived
in the South. I taught school in Macon. I know the South, its increasing
belief in the despotic power of cotton and tobacco, its splendid courage,
and the sense of mastery given by the ownership of man. Why do I talk my
despair out to a young life like yours? I suppose confession to be a
relief--the tears of the soul. I suppose it is easier to talk to a
woman." "Then why not to Aunt Ann?" thought Leila, as he went on to say,
"I have often asked myself why confession is such a relief." He smiled as
he added, "I wonder if St. Francis ever confessed to Monica." Then he was
silent, turning round before the fire, unwilling to leave it.

Leila had been but recently introduced to the knowledge of St. Francis,
and was struck with the oddity of representing Monica; and the tall,
gaunt figure with the sad eyes, as the joyful St. Francis.

"Now, I must go home," he said.

"Indeed, no! You are to go with me to the post-office and then to see
Mrs. Lamb."

He had some pleasant sense of liking to be ordered about by this young
woman. As they faced the snow, he asked, "How tall are you, Leila?"

"Five feet ten inches and--to be accurate--a quarter. Why do you ask?"

"Idle curiosity."

"Curiosity is never idle, Mr. Rivers. It is industrious. I proved that in
a composition I wrote at school. It did bother Miss Mayo."

"I should think it might," said Rivers. "Any letters, Mrs. Crocker?"

"No, sir; none for Squire's folk. Two newspapers. Awful cold, Miss Leila.
Mo