"I alwus allowed to pay some o' that debt back
to him, but seein' 's I can't do that, Mis' Cullom, I'm glad an'
thankful to pay it to his widdo'."

"Mebbe he knows, Dave," said Mrs. Cullom softly.

"Mebbe he does," assented David in a low voice.

Neither spoke for a time, and then the widow said: "David, I can't thank
ye 's I ought ter--I don't know how--but I'll pray for ye night an'
mornin' 's long 's I got breath. An', Dave," she added humbly, "I want
to take back what I said about the Lord's providin'."

She sat a moment, lost in her thoughts, and then exclaimed, "Oh, it
don't seem 's if I c'd wait to write to Charley!"

"I've wrote to Charley," said David, "an' told him to sell out there an'
come home, an' to draw on me fer any balance he needed to move him. I've
got somethin' in my eye that'll be easier an' better payin' than
fightin' grasshoppers an' drought in Kansas."

"Dave Harum!" cried the widow, rising to her feet, "you ought to 'a' ben
a king!"

"Wa'al," said David with a grin, "I don't know much about the kingin'
bus'nis, but I guess a cloth cap 'n' a hoss whip 's more 'n my line than
a crown an' scepter. An' now," he added, "'s we've got through 'th our
bus'nis, s'pose you step over to the house an' see Polly. She's
expectin' on ye to dinner. Oh, yes," replying to the look of deprecation
in her face as she viewed her shabby frock, "you an' Polly c'n prink up
some if you want to, but we can't take 'No' fer an answer Chris'mus day,
clo'es or no clo'es."

"I'd really like ter," said Mrs. Cullom.

"All right then," said David cheerfully. "The path is swep' by this
time, I guess, an' I'll see ye later. Oh, by the way," he exclaimed,
"the's somethin' I fergot. I want to make you a proposition, ruther an
onusual one, but seein' ev'rythin' is as 't is, perhaps you'll consider
it."

"Dave," declared the widow, "if I could, an' you ast for it, I'd give ye
anythin' on the face o' this mortal globe!"

"Wa'al," said David, nodding and smiling, "I thought that mebbe, long 's
you got the int'rist of that investment we ben talkin' about, you'd let
me keep what's left of the princ'pal. Would ye like to see it?"

Mrs. Cullom looked at him with a puzzled expression without replying.

David took from his pocket a large wallet, secured by a strap, and,
opening it, extracted something enveloped in much faded brown paper.
Unfolding this, he displayed upon his broad fat palm an old silver dime
black with age.