oming into the kitchen, found Andy and
Jeff sitting by the fire, and Dilsey Rust in charge.

"Yo' uncle sont fer me," the old woman said. "He 'lowed he needed yo'
he'p takin' keer o' Bonbright."

Judith sat with Creed while the others had breakfast. When her uncle went
out, closing the door softly behind him, leaving her alone with her
recovered treasure, she went and knelt down by the bed, and looked at its
silent occupant with a bursting heart.

Here was Creed, Creed for whom she had longed and prayed. He had come
back to her. She stared at the wasted face, the transparent temples where
the blue veins showed through, the black circles beneath the lashes of
the closed eyes. No, no, this was not Creed, this dying man who mocked
her longing with a semblance of her lover's return!

There was a sound at the door. Andy and Jeff came awkwardly in, and while
they all stood looking, Creed's eyes opened suddenly upon them. Andy put
out a hand swiftly.

"I'm mighty sorry for--for all that chanced," he said huskily.

"So 'm I," Jeff instantly seconded him.

Creed looked at them both with a little puzzled drawing of the brows;
then the ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, and his hand that
lay on the covers moved weakly toward theirs.

"It's all right," he said, scarcely above a whisper--the first words he
had uttered. "I told--Aunt Nancy--you were good--boys--" he faltered to a
hesitating close, his eyelids drooped over the tired eyes; but they
flashed open once more with a smile that included Judith and her uncle
standing back of the two.

"You're all--mighty--good--to me," said Creed Bonbright. And again he
sank into that lethargic sleep.

As the day advanced came the visitors that are the torment of a sick-room
in the country. It would scarcely have been thought that a bare land like
that could produce so many. Finally Judith went to her uncle and begged
that Creed be no longer made a show of, and that old Dilsey set out food
in the other room and entertain those who came, without promising that
they should see the sick man.

"Uh--huh," agreed Jephthah, understandingly, "I reckon yo' about right,
Jude. Creed's obliged to lay there like a baby an' sleep ef he's to have
any chance for his life. I don't want to fall out with the neighbours,
but we'll see if we cain't make out with less visitin'."

But this prohibition was not supposed to apply to Iley Turrentine, a
member of the family. About eight o'clock th