our eyes and your
dad's. He was workin' and pinchin' to pay the two thousand to the
man in Middleford. He had hangin' over him every minute the
practical certainty that some day--some day sure--a person was
comin' along who knew his story and then the fat would all be in
the fire. And when it went into that fire he wouldn't be the only
one to be burnt; there would be his sister and Babbie--and you;
most of all, you."

She nodded. "Yes, yes, I know," she cried. "But why--oh, why
didn't he come to me and tell me? Why did he go without a word?
He must have known I would forgive him, no matter what he had done.
It wouldn't have made any difference, his having been in--in
prison. And now--now he may be--oh, Jed, he may be killed!"

She was sobbing again. Jed patted her hand. "We won't talk about
his bein' killed," he said stoutly. "I know he won't be; I feel it
in my bones. But, Maud, can't you see why he didn't come and tell
you before he went to enlist? Suppose he had. If you care for him
so much--as much as I judge you do--"

She interrupted. "Care for him!" she repeated. "Oh, Jed!"

"Yes, yes, dearie, I know. Well, then, carin' for him like that,
you'd have told him just what you told me then; that about his
havin' done what he did and havin' been where he's been not makin'
any difference. And you'd have begged and coaxed him to stay right
along in the bank, maybe? Eh?"

"Yes," defiantly. Of course I would. Why not?"

"And your father, would you have told him?"

She hesitated. "I don't know," she said, but with less assurance.
"Perhaps so, later on. It had all been kept a secret so far, all
the whole dreadful thing, why not a little longer? Besides--
besides, Father knows how much Charlie means to me. Father and I
had a long talk about him one night and I--I think he knows. And
he is very fond of Charlie himself; he has said so so many times.
He would have forgiven him, too, if I had asked him. He always
does what I ask."

"Yes, ye-es, I cal'late that's so. But, to be real honest now,
Maud, would you have been satisfied to have it that way? Would you
have felt that it was the honorable thing for Charlie to do? Isn't
what he has done better? He's undertakin' the biggest and finest
job a man can do in this world to-day, as I see it. It's the job
he'd have taken on months ago if he'd felt 'twas right to leave
Ruth--Mrs. Armstrong--so soon after--after bein' separated from her
so lo