se leading to the B.S. degree, had bought the necessary
text-books, had studied as men work only at that which they love for its
own sake and not for any advantage to be got from it. His father, a
captain of volunteers in the Civil War, was killed in the Wilderness; his
mother was a washerwoman. His father's father--Jean Montague, the first
blacksmith of Saint X--had shortened the family name. In those early,
nakedly practical days, long names and difficult names, such as naturally
develop among peoples of leisure, were ruthlessly taken to the chopping
block by a people among whom a man's name was nothing in itself, was
simply a convenience for designating him. Everybody called Jean Montague
"Jim Tague," and pronounced the Tague in one syllable; when he finally
acquiesced in the sensible, popular decision, from which he could not
well appeal, his very children were unaware that they were Montagues.

Arthur told Lorry of his engagement to Madelene an hour after he told his
mother--he and Lorry were heading a barrel as they talked. This supreme
proof of friendship moved Laurent to give proof of appreciation. That
evening he and Arthur took a walk to the top of Reservoir Hill, to see
the sun set and the moon rise. It was under the softening and expanding
influence of the big, yellow moon upon the hills and valleys and ghostly
river that Laurent told his secret--a secret that in the mere telling,
and still more in itself, was to have a profound influence upon the
persons of this narrative.

"When I was at school," he began, "you may remember I used to carry the
washing to and fro for mother."

"Yes," said Arthur. He remembered how he liked to slip away from home and
help Lorry with the big baskets.

"Well, one of the places I used to go to was old Preston Wilmot's;
they had a little money left in those days and used to hire mother now
and then."

"So the Wilmots owe her, too," said Arthur, with a laugh. The
universal indebtedness of the most aristocratic family in Saint X was
the town joke.

Lorry smiled. "Yes, but she don't know it," he replied. "I used to do all
her collecting for her. When the Wilmots quit paying, I paid for 'em--out
of money I made at odd jobs. I paid for 'em for over two years. Then, one
evening--Estelle Wilmot"--Lorry paused before this name, lingered on it,
paused after it--"said to me--she waylaid me at the back gate--I always
had to go in and out by the alley way--no wash by the front gate fo