he twig is his first ten
thousand dollars. All of it lies there before him, his victories and
his defeats, his millions come, and his millions going--going?--yes,
all but gone. Yonder that deep gash in the sod at the left hides a
woman's face--pale, wasted, dead on her pillow; and that clean black
streak on the ebony cane--that is a tear, and in the tear is a girl's
face and back of hers shimmers a boy's countenance. All of John
Barclay's life and hopes and dreams and visions are spread out before
him on the ground. So he closes his eyes, and braces his soul, and
then, having risen, whistles as he limps lightly--for a man past
fifty--down to the boat. He rows with a clean manly stroke--even in
an old flat-bottomed boat--through the hazy sunset into the dusk.

"Jeanette," he said to his daughter that evening at dinner, "I wish
you would go to the phone, pretty soon, and tell Molly Culpepper that
I want her to come down this evening. I am anxious to see her. The
colonel isn't at home, or I'd have him, mother," explained Mr Barclay.

And that is why Miss Barclay called "876, Please--yes, 8-7-6;" and
then said: "Hello--hello, is this 876? Yes--is Mrs. Brownwell in?
Oh, all right." And then, "54, please; yes, 5-4. Is this you, Aunt
Molly? Father is in town--he came in this morning and has spent the
afternoon on the river, and he told me at dinner to ask you if you
could run down this evening. Oh, any time. I didn't know you worked
nights at the office. Oh, is Mr. Ward out of town?--I didn't know.
All right, then--about eight o'clock--we'll look for you."

And that is why at the other end of the telephone, a pretty,
gray-haired woman stood, and looked, and looked, and looked at a plain
walnut desk, as though it was enchanted, and then slipped guiltily
over to that black walnut desk, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a
whole apronful of letters.

And so the reader may know what Molly Brownwell had in that package
which she put in the buggy seat beside her when she drove down to see
the Barclays, that beautiful starry November night. She put the
package with her hat and wraps in Jeanette's room, and then came down
to the living room where John Barclay sat by the roaring fire in the
wide fireplace, with a bundle beside him also. His mother was there,
and his daughter took a seat beside him.

"Molly," said Barclay, with a deep sigh, "I sent for you, first,
because, of all the people in the world, it is but just that you
sho