02-1903 there were no entries at all, but
in 1904 there was a single memorandum of a thousand dollars. The entire
amount must have been close to twenty-five thousand dollars. There was
nothing to show whether it was money saved or money spent, money paid
out or come in.

But across the years 1902 and 1903, the Reverend Thaddeus had written
diagonally the word "Australia." There was a certain amount of
enlightenment there. Carlo Benton had been in Australia during those
years. In his "Fifty Years in Bolivar County," the father had rather
naively quoted a letter from Carlo Benton in Melbourne. A record, then,
in all probability, of sums paid by this harassed old man to a worthless
son.

Only the handkerchief refused to be accounted for.

I did not sleep that night. More and more, as I lay wide-eyed through
the night, it seemed to me that Miss Emily must be helped, that she was
drifting miserably out of life for need of a helping hand.

Once, toward morning, I dozed off, to waken in a state of terror that I
recognized as a return of the old fear. But it left me soon, although I
lay awake until morning.

That day I made two resolves--to send for Willie and to make a
determined effort to see the night telephone-operator. My letter to
Willie off, I tried to fill the day until the hour when the night
telephone-operator was up and about, late in the afternoon.

The delay was simplified by the arrival of Mrs. Graves, in white silk
gloves and a black cotton umbrella as a sunshade. She had lost her air
of being afraid I might patronize her, and explained pantingly that she
had come on an errand, not to call.

"I'm at my Christmas presents now," she said, "and I've fixed on a
bedroom set for Miss Emily. I suppose you won't care if I go right up
and measure the dresser-top, will you?"

I took her up, and her sharp eyes roved over the stairs and the upper
hall.

"That's where Carlo died," she said. "It's never been used since, unless
you--" she had paused, staring into Miss Emily's deserted bedroom.
"It's a good thing I came," she said. "The eye's no use to trust to,
especially for bureaus."

She looked around the room. There was, at that moment, something tender
about her. She even lowered her voice and softened it. It took on,
almost comically, the refinements of Miss Emily's own speech.

"Whose photograph is that?" she asked suddenly. "I don't know that I
ever saw it before. But it looks familiar, too."

She reflec