gon over
after 'em."

"So she intends to make that her future home?" ventured Henley, a frown
of perplexity on his face.

"Yes, she says it would be out of all reason for the head of sech a big
thing to live away over here, an' that you kin sell out yore little
shack an' move thar. She's installed me an' Jane in a big room
overlookin' the river, an' has one set aside for you that is every bit
as good. I reckon you'll be made to feel like a common chap that has
married into a royal family, but I wouldn't let that bother me if I was
you. You are in luck, Alf. When you took her she didn't have a red cent,
an' now just look at her. If Dick had knowed this thing was in the wind,
he'd have stayed at home an' put up with a lot that he used to kick
agin. She sent you one positive message, an' that was to be sure to come
over next Saturday an' spend Sunday. She said you mustn't make it later
'n that, because folks would be sure to talk, an' that she don't want to
be talked about, especially while she is in black."

"Well, I'll go over, then," Henley said, with sarcasm that was lost on
Wrinkle. "You may tell her that I have accepted her kind invitation."
And he turned to his desk and sat down and began to work.

CHAPTER XXXV

That night at his uncle's house Hank Bradley, still wearing traces of
his encounter with Henley, sat reading a newspaper and smoking in his
chamber at the head of the stairs. A half-empty whiskey-flask and a
glass of water were on a table at his elbow, and torn and soiled
playing-cards were scattered about the floor.

Presently his attention was drawn to the outside by a sharp whistle
which was evidently familiar, for he dropped the paper and went to a
window which looked out on the front lawn. At first he could see only
old Welborne at a potato-bed on the right, but as his sight became used
to the outer gloom he descried a man leaning on the fence near the gate.
The fellow wore the broad-brimmed felt hat of the mountaineers; his
pants were tucked into his high-top boots and he wore no coat, but a
gray flannel shirt with a leather belt and a flowing necktie.

"It's Rayburn Hill," Bradley ejaculated. "What the devil can he want? He
must have come thirty miles."

Descending the stairs, and looking furtively at his uncle, whose back
was turned to him, Bradley tiptoed across the veranda and gained the
grass sward, across which he walked noiselessly.

"Hello!" he said, in a gruff tone; "what ar