game," with some perplexity,
"but the doctor assures me that Lablache never hits him hard. Often and
often when the 'pot' rests between them Lablache will throw down his
hand--which goes to show that he does not want to take his money."

"An' I reckon goes to show that he's bucking dead against Uncle John,
only. Yes, I see."

The little gray head again bent over the darning, which had lain almost
untouched in her lap during her long recital. Now she resolutely drew
the darning yarn through the soft wool of the sock and re-inserted the
needle. The girl beside her bent an eager face before her, and, resting
her chin upon her hands, propped her elbows on her knees.

"Yes, auntie, I know," Jacky went on thoughtfully. "Lablache means to
put this marriage with me right through. I see it all. But say,"
bringing one of her brown hands down forcibly upon that of her
companion, which was concealed in the foot of the woolen sock, and
gripping it with nervous strength, "I guess he's reckoned without his
bride. I'm not going to marry Lablache, auntie, dear, and you can bet
your bottom dollar I'm not going to let him ruin uncle. All I want to do
is to stop uncle drinking. That is what scares me most."

"My child, Lablache is the cause of that. The same as he is the cause of
all troubles in Foss River. Your uncle realizes the consequences of the
terrible losses he has incurred. He knows, only too well, that he is
utterly in the money-lender's power. He knows he must go on playing,
vainly endeavoring to recover himself, and with each fresh loss he
drinks deeper to smother his fears and conscience. It is the result of
the weakness of his nature--a weakness which I have always known would
sooner or later lead to his undoing. Jacky, girl, I fear you will one
day have to marry Lablache or your uncle's ruin will be certainly
accomplished."

Mrs. Abbot's face was very serious now. She pitied from the bottom of
her heart this motherless girl who had come to her, in spite of her
courage and almost mannish independence, for that sympathy and advice
which, at certain moments, the strongest woman cannot do without. She
knew that all she had said was right, and even if her story could do no
material good it would at least have the effect of putting the girl on
her guard. In spite of her shrewdness Mrs. Abbot could never quite
fathom her _protegee_. And even now, as she gazed into the girl's face,
she was wondering how--in what manner--the nar