n see that Cynthia is properly
looked after, and you can give Miss Walden the joy of her life in
thinking that she is able to help you. It is a pardonable bit of
deceit, but will you assist me?"

After a decent show of hesitation, Sally decided that she would and, at
the close of the afternoon, was seated behind the little doctor--with
her pitiful store of clothing, jogging in a bundle at her back, on the
way to Stoneledge. Miss Lowe set her down at the trail leading up to
the old crumbling house, with these words:

"If ever my uncle did a kind deed, for you, Miss Taber, do this for him
now."

Toting up the hill, Sally's thoughts wandered back to Theodore Starr
and settled on a certain dark, cold night when he sat in her cabin
piling the wood on her fire, while she lay shivering with chill upon
her wretched bed. All the charms had failed, the rabbit foot, under
the dripping of the north end of the roof had not eased a single pang,
and hope was about gone when Starr chanced by. He had meant to ask for
a bite and a night's shelter, for he was worn by travel and service,
but instead he sat beside her the night through and fought death by the
bravery of his spirit and the homely task of keeping warm the shivering
body. He had put his coat over her and aroused her to interest and
courage.

"The Lord does not let one of us off until our day's work is done," he
had said even when he himself feared Sally's duties were over.

"Ah' mighty right He war'," Sally now muttered, panting up the last
rise. "I reckon I got something yet to do."

Her advent at Stoneledge was nothing less than consummate acting.
Knocking at the kitchen door she responded to the call from within and
stood before Ann Walden crouching by the fire, and Cynthia awkwardly
trying to evolve an evening meal from some materials on the table.

"Miss Ann, I've come to ax mercy o' you."

Miss Walden laughed foolishly.

"Everything is plumb gone an' I got to tell some one o' my misery.
Nothing to eat; nothing to hold onto 'cept a trifle o' money what I'se
afraid to let any one know I'se got. Miss Ann, chile, there ain't any
one goin' to be s'prised at money coming from the Great House, so jes'
let me bide long o' you an' lil' miss, for God's sake, ma'am."

The old tie between the family and its dependents held true now even
through the growing mists of Ann Walden's brain.

"Cyn," she commanded, "get Ivy--where is Ivy? Tell her to make up a
bed for