hought 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."

Mr. Merrill could not speak. The tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"I want you to promise me, Mr. Merril!" he went on presently, "I want
you to promise me that you will never speak to Jethro, of this, or to my
daughter, Cynthia."

Mr. Merrill merely nodded his head in assent. Still he could not speak.

"They might think it was this that caused my death. It was not. I know
very well that I am worn out, and that I should have gone soon in any
case. And I must leave Cynthia to him. He loves her as his own child."

William Wetherell, his faith in Jethro restored, was facing death as he
had never faced life. Mr. Merrill was greatly affected.

"You must not speak of dying, Wetherell," said he, brokenly. "Will you
forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive, now that you have explained matters, Mr.
Merrill" said the storekeeper, and he smiled again. "If my fibre had
been