usiness may come his way; and he is waiting to
see me.

I tell Mr. Brooks at once that I want to divide the property equally
with Zoe. He thinks, evidently, that I have weakened before the mere
prospect of a contest; and he assures me that the estate can be settled
as my father intended. Well, but can this plan of mine be carried out?
As easily as the other, he says, and of course more bindingly if there
can be a difference. For he had intended to have the court decree a sale
of the property and divide the money under the sanction of the court.
But according to my plan Zoe could get no more; and therefore no one
could object to it.

I am curious about my father. What is the danger of a contest, even if
Zoe could be brought to make one? Mr. Brooks tells me that my father was
drinking heavily toward the last; that he looked aged and worn. His hair
had turned white, though he was only forty. He acted like a man who had
a corroding sorrow in his heart. When he took the cold it developed
rapidly into lung fever. He was dead in three days. His will was made
just as he took to his bed at the tavern. There were stray scamps about
Jacksonville who would swear to anything. And though Zoe was a colored
girl, and notwithstanding the character of such witnesses in her behalf,
a case so composed might be troublesome. Then there was the treasure at
stake; and the hunger of lawyers and maintainers. Well, I had settled
it. None of these wolves should have a chance. Mr. Brooks scrutinized my
face with large, pensive eyes. After a silence he said: "You are the
boss; but I want you to know that the will can stand. I will guarantee
to win the case if there is one." "Can we see the farm?" I asked. "And
my father's grave?" Mr. Brooks brought up his buggy and we were off.

But first I wished to find Reverdy and give him Mrs. Spurgeon's message.
He had gone out to his little farm. He was raising a crop, having
returned from the war just in time to get it planted. It was only a
little out of our way, and we could stop there on our return.

Almost at once we came to the cemetery, a crude enclosure, fenced with
rough pickets, evidently split with the ax. Mr. Brooks led me to the
spot.

Weeds abounded everywhere. The grasshoppers were flying before our
steps. A long snake glided away from my feet as I stepped near the
yellow clay which tented the body of my father ... and Zoe's
father ... the husband of my lovely mother, so long dead. Here was