"

It was the doctor's turn to stare.

"You dug up the farm!" he said blankly.

Sick with discouragement Kenny pointed to the will.

"Read it," he said bitterly. "Particularly the 'remainder, residue and
situate' part."

The doctor read and he read slowly. Before he reached the clause in
question Kenny was on his feet, mopping his forehead. He told of the
fairy mill and the chair by the fire.

The doctor poured himself another cup of coffee and looked at Kenny
with a shade of asperity. Fairies, it would seem, were a little out of
his line.

"Adam had a good many spells like that," he said, "'specially when he
was drinking hard. Off like a shot, hanging out of his chair. Mere
coincidence. As for the night he staggered out to the sitting room, it
is possible as you suggest that he did it in a fit of drunken
superstition. But there wasn't any money on his conscience. Couldn't
be for there wasn't any. If he feared at all to have his sister
revisit her home--queer notion, that, Mr. O'Neill! You Irish run to
notions!--it was simply because he hadn't given her kids a square deal
and he knew it."

Again the doctor adjusted his glasses and went back to the will.

"Doctor," flung out Kenny desperately, "I myself have seen indisputable
proof in that house that Adam Craig was a miser--even the way he
handled money."

The doctor sighed and looked up. And he smiled his weary,
understanding smile.

"What you saw, Mr. O'Neill," he said soberly, "was something very close
to poverty. He was selfish and he had to have his brandy. His economy
in every other way was horrible. Horrible! As for the way he handled
money, as I said before, he wanted you to think he was a miser. It
seems," added the doctor dryly as he went back to his reading, "that he
was a grain too successful."

"He hated his sister," blurted Kenny. "Why would he hate her and
revile her memory unless he knew he had wronged her? Why did he have
black wakeful hours in bed and have to drink himself to sleep?"

"Adam," said the doctor with weary sarcasm, "fancied his sister had
brought disgrace upon the grand old family name of Craig. She was a
good girl and clever. But Adam believed in sacrifice and conventional
virtue--for women. Most men do. And he knew the way folks feel up
here about the stage. The world's queer, Mr. O'Neill. And Adam was
just a little queerer than the rest of it. In a sense he had wronged
her. God knows he was cr