when he wrote that he had had an
accident. He had been almost killed by the saw in the mill, and he
would have died only that a boy who worked there saved his life.
"Bert" was the boy's name; she did not remember his last one. He set a
great store by that boy after that, and helped to send him to school,
and to put him through college to make him a doctor. That took a lot
of money, of course, and she said they had better wait until the boy
was old enough to help himself. Martin didn't want to, but Susan said
they must; and while they were waiting he went back to Nova Scotia to
take care of the old folks. Then they both died, and he found that his
father didn't own a cent; everything belonging to him was gone. A man
had cheated the old people out of it. So now he had nothing to offer
her, he said, and so he started away West to make a new home. He had
wanted her to come with him then, but her mother had died the summer
before, and Susan managed her affairs. And Susan said no, she was not
strong enough to go away out West and rough it, and she had bidden
Arabella write him a letter saying she would wait till he had a proper
home ready. Susan was always a great manager. Here Miss Arabella
sighed deeply. So she had let him go away alone, and for a long time
she heard from him regularly; then only at long intervals, and at last
not at all. He had taken up land in Alberta, but everything seemed to
go against him. The crops were frozen the first year and the next year
his cattle died. Then just about this time he heard that his best and
oldest friend, away down in Nova Scotia--old John, he always called
him--was in great trouble, had lost everything through the same man
that had got his own property. Old John had left the place and gone
away, no one knew where, and he was writing here and there hunting him.
At last he got word that his friend had gone to the Klondyke. He
thought he would be far more likely to make money there, so he sold his
ranch and went away north to find John and make a fortune for her.
That was five years ago last spring, and she had never heard from him
since. But she had never quite given up hope until this last summer.
She had always kept the blue silk, hoping that she might even yet wear
it some day. But last May she had noticed it had begun to ravel;
see--she held it up to the light--that was a sure sign. Something told
her, the minute she saw it, she would never wear it. Likely he