ns for not pushing the case. I didn't ask him
what they were."

This was all she could get out of him. It was less than she had hoped.
Still, it was something. She knew definitely what Bellamy had done.
Wherefore she sat down to write him a note of thanks. It took her an hour
and eight sheets of paper before she could complete it to her
satisfaction. Even then the result was not what she wanted. She wished she
knew how he felt about it, so that she could temper it to the right degree
of warmth or coolness. Since she did not know, she erred on the side of
stiffness and made her message formal.

"Mr. Thomas L. Morse,
"Monte Cristo Mine.
"Dear Sir:

"Father and I feel that we ought to thank you for your considerate
forbearance in a certain matter you know of. Believe me, sir, we are
grateful.

"Very respectfully,
"Melissy Lee."
She could not, however, keep herself from one touch of sympathy, and as a
postscript she naively added:

"I'm sorry about the sheep."

Before mailing it she carried this letter to her father. Neither of them
had ever referred to the other about what each knew of the affair of the
robbery. More than once it had been on the tip of Champ Lee's tongue to
speak of it, but it was not in his nature to talk out what he felt, and
with a sigh he had given it up. Now Melissy came straight to the point.

"I've been writing a letter to Mr. Morse, dad, thanking him for not having
me arrested."

Lee shot at her a glance of quick alarm.

"Does he know about it, honey?"

"Yes. Jack Flatray found out the whole thing and told him. He was very
insistent on dropping it, Mr. Flatray says."

"You say Jack found out all about it, honey?" repeated Lee in surprise.

He was seated in a big chair on the porch, and she nestled on one arm of
it, rumpled his gray hair as she had always done since she had been a
little girl, kissed him, and plunged into her story.

He heard her to the end without a word, but she noticed that he gripped
the chair hard. When she had finished he swept her into his arms and broke
down over her, calling her the pet names of her childhood.

"Honey-bird ... Dad's little honey-bird ... I'm that ashamed of myse'f.
'Twas the whisky did it, lambie. Long as I live I'll nevah touch it again.
I'll sweah that befo' God. All week you been packin' the troubles I
heaped on you, preci