for answer.

"To-night I will keep secret and plan how to arrange it--and you may
sleep here on the sofa before the fire and dream of good things for
to-morrow; and only then"--she nods with mystery in her smile--"I will
say what ye are to do."

And Tim gives her a glance of his level eyes, reflecting in the wisdom
of experience that here is crooked business to be done for his keep.

"Sure," he answers in a way to inspire confidence, and the bargain being
struck Molly says good night, and the guest is soon stretched in sleep
on the couch.

After a time the shadows move up closer to him, the fire flickering on
the blackened log as the spirit clings to a body dying; the wind falls
till only the deep breathing of the sleeper is heard, and the loud
ticking of the clock--it strikes two with a crash, and Tim rouses.

As an old campaigner he rises from sleep without recoil or startled look
at the cloaked figure standing with ink and paper at the table in the
center of the room.

"Whist!" she says, and for a moment marvels at the nature of a boy who
rises to the alarm in the middle of the night, awake and ready; the
indifference with which he buttons his coat whilst hearing the snow he
has just escaped snarl threateningly against the window. "Whist!" says
Molly, hesitating to tell the reason for her coming at that hour, lest
it shock or frighten him. But the bearing of the meager boy and the
level glance of the untamable blue eyes once more assure her that he has
not been sent here from beyond Turntable to fail her at extremity.

"Y' understand, Timothy, that I am an old lady who may die any
time--perhaps to-night, having such warning in the unsteady beating of
my heart--and so I am come at once to explain matters and have you
settle my affairs for me on earth. Do not be afraid----"

"What of?" asks Tim.

"First," resumes Molly eagerly, "I have planned to explain to you a
moment--that 't is a duty I promised myself to do and have long
neglected."

"What is that?" asks Tim.

"A duty? Why, the same as made me take you in this night."

"How did it make you?" asks Tim, and listens with skepticism to her
explanation.

"'T will be the same with you, settling my affairs on earth," says Molly
in conclusion; "if you promise to do it 't is then a duty, and of course
you would not fail--through storm and hardship and fear, you would
go----"

"A duty," says Tim with reflection; "if you die you'll never know
whether I 't