said
shrewdly, "what life up here would be worth to your mother while you
were away. No, you're just like all boys. You wanted to get away
yourself. But you never thought what a life this is for her.

"Why, boy, she's a young woman yet. You can take her out and give her
a chance to live. Do you hear, a chance to live.

"Think it over."

Jeffrey Whiting thought, harder and faster than he had ever tried to
think in his life. But he could make nothing of it.

He thought of the people, old and young, on the hills, suddenly set
adrift from their homes. He thought of his mother and Uncle Cassius
and Aunt Letitia without their real home to come back to. And he
thought of money--illimitable money: money that could do everything.

He did not want to look at his mother for counsel. The man's talk had
gone to his head. But, slowly, unwillingly his eyes came to his
mother's, and he saw in hers that steady, steadfast look which told
him to wait, wait. He caught the meaning and spoke it brusquely:

"All right. Leave the options here. I'll see what we'll do. And I'll
write to you next week."

No. That would not do. The big man must have his answer at once. He
stormed at Jeffrey. He appealed to Mrs. Whiting. He blandished Miss
Letitia. He even attacked Uncle Cassius, but that guileless man led
him off into such a discussion of cross grafting and reforestation
that he was glad to drop him.

In the end, he saw that, having committed himself, he could do no
better than leave the matter to Jeffrey, trusting that, with time for
thought, the boy could not refuse his offer.

So the two men, having breakfasted and rested their horses, set out on
the down trip to Lowville.

Late that night Jeffrey Whiting and his mother came to a decision.

"It is too big for us, Jeff," she said. "We do not know what it means.
Nobody up here can tell us. The man was lying. But we do not know why,
or what about.

"There is one man that could tell us. The White Horse Chaplain, do you
remember him, Jeffrey?"

"I guess I do. He sent Ruth away from me."

"Only to give her her chance, my son. Do not forget that. He could
tell us what this means. I don't care anything about his religion.
Your Uncle Catty thinks he was a ghost even that day at Fort Fisher. I
don't. He is the Catholic Bishop of Alden. You'll go to him to-morrow.
He'll tell you what it means."

* * * * *

Bishop Joseph Winthrop of Alden was