or them, and then they snarl. I've no
time for that sort of people, no time nor money either."

"Then I hardly know what to suggest," she said, "unless----"

"Unless what?"

"You helped Mrs. O'Guire and her children, if she has any."

His mouth went into its old hard lines, and he sat silent for a time.

"It's no good talking about that," he said presently. "The best thing I
can do for them is not to think about them--I'd be after them again if I
do--if I could find them. Help them? No. I'd rather give the money to
the Government to build gaols. Can't you think of anything else?"

"I'm afraid I cannot," she answered. "But I am still sure your money
will do good if it is properly applied."

"Ah, that's it. If it's properly applied. I'm an old man now. How am I
to apply it? There's only one way that I can see, and that is what I am
going to do with it. I'm going to give it away. What do you think of
that?"

"If you give it away where it will do good I think it is a very
excellent idea," she answered.

"You know that youngster at the bank, don't you? Young Harding, I mean."

"Yes," she replied.

"Do you think he is a man to be trusted?"

"I know he is, Mr. Dudgeon."

"I'll take your word for it," he said as he stood up. "I'll get along
and see him. You can let him know if you want anything and he'll send
on word to me. I'll look in again next time I'm passing. Good-bye."

He held out his hand, hard, knotted, and roughened with toil, and she
placed hers in it. His fingers closed on hers, and he stood looking into
her eyes till she grew uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"I'd give everything I've got in the world," he said hoarsely, "for a
daughter like you."

He dropped her hand and limped quickly to the door, opening it and going
out without looking back.

Through the window she saw him pass along the road towards the bank, his
head up in the old defiant way, the limp robbing his stride of much of
its sturdiness. Without a glance at the cottage he passed out of sight.

Right through the town he walked until he came to the bank.

Harding, looking up at the sound of footsteps, was surprised to see him
limping to the counter.

"Good day, Mr. Dudgeon," he exclaimed.

"Do you know how to make a will?" the old man asked, without replying to
the greeting.

"That is more the work of a solicitor than a banker, Mr. Dudgeon."

"Oh, I know all about that. If it's going to be a long, muddled,
complicated af