his "great indebtedness to his patient and
wise teacher."

One sees that the situation was not without irony. But I could not
cloud his pleasure in my co-authorship nor dim his happiness by
disclaiming one jot or tittle of what he had chosen to accredit me
with. It is more blessed to give than to receive, but much more
difficult to receive than to give.

"Do you like it?" he asked, hopefully.

"I am most horribly proud of it," said I, honestly.

"Sure, parson? Hand on your heart?"

"Sure. Hand on my heart."

"All right, then," said he, sighing with relief.

"Here's your share of the loot," and he pushed a check across the
table.

"But--" I hesitated, blinking, for it was a check of sorts.

"But nothing. Blow it in. Say, I'm curious. What are you going to do
with yours?"

"What are you going to do with yours?" I asked in return.

He reddened, hesitated; then his head went up.

"I figure it, parson, that by way of that rag-doll I'm kin to Louisa's
ma. As near as I can get to it, Louisa's ma's my widow. It's a devil
of a responsibility for a live man to have a widow. It worries him.
Just to get her off my mind I'm going to invest my share of this book
for her. She'll at least be sure of a roof and fire and shoes and
clothes and bread with butter on it and staying home sometimes. She'll
have to work, of course; anyway you looked at it, it wouldn't be right
to take work away from her. She'll work, then; but she won't be
worked. Louisa's managed to pull something out of her wishin' curl for
her ma, after all. I'm sure I hope they'll let the child know."

I could not speak for a moment; but as I looked at him, the red in his
tanned cheek deepened.

"As a matter of fact, parson," he explained, "somebody ought to do
something for a woman that looks like that, and it might just as well
be me. I'm willing to pay good money to have my widow turn her mouth
the other way up, and I hope she'll buy a back-comb for those bangs on
her neck."

"And all this," said I, "came out of one little wishin' curl,
Butterfly Man?"

"But what else could I do?" he wondered, "when I'm kin to Loujaney by
bornation?" and to hide his feeling, he asked again:

"Now what are you going to do with yours?"

I reflected. I watched his clever, quizzical eyes, out of which the
diamond-bright hardness had vanished, and into which I am sure that
dear child's curl had wished this milder, clearer light.

"You want to know what I am going to