rve of some
half-forgotten tune. McElwin dropped down in an arm chair.

"I wonder if this newspaper will ever stop talking about that fellow's
story," said he. "I read it over and I didn't see anything remarkable
in it. Of course it's all right to feel a local pride in a thing, but
gracious alive, we don't want to go into fits over it. Now, here's
nearly half a column about it."

"Let me see it," said Eva. He picked up the paper and held it out to
her. She got off the piano stool, took the paper and stood near her
father, under the hanging lamp.

"Can't you find it? On the editorial page."

"Yes, I have found it. But it is not written by the pen of local
pride."

"It is in the state paper."

"Yes, but if you had read to the bottom you would have seen that it
was from a New York paper."

"Ah, well, it doesn't interest me, no matter what paper it is from."

"What is it?" Mrs. McElwin asked, turning from the window.

"Something more about Mr. Lyman's story," the daughter answered.

"It appears to have stirred up quite a sensation," said Mrs. McElwin.
"One of those happy accidents."

"It was not an accident," the girl replied. "It was genius."

"Come, don't be absurd," said her father. "There is such a thing as a
man finding a gold watch in the road. I call it an accident. I had
quite a talk with him in my private office before our relations became
strained, and I found him to be rather below the average. He surely
has but a vague and confused idea regarding even the simplest forms
of business. But I admit that his story is all well enough, and so are
many little pieces of fancy work, but they don't amount to anything.
Educated man? Yes, that's all right, too, but the highways are full of
educated men, looking for something to do. Sawyer is worth a dozen of
him."

Mrs. McElwin glanced at her daughter, as if she had heard a footstep
on dangerous ground. She was not far wrong.

"Sawyer is a man, ready--"

"He has not shown it," the girl was bold enough to declare. She stood
under the lamp and the newspaper rattled as she held it now grasped
tightly.

"Eva," said her mother, in gentle reproof, "don't say that."

"But I want her to say it if she thinks it," the banker spoke up,
almost angrily. "I want her to say it and prove it."

"He proved it to me, but I may not be able to prove it to you. Mr.
Lyman called him a coward and he did not resent it."

"Lyman did? How do you know?"

"I heard him."

The