nd he put his arm around her as he
continued: 'I can't say that I am not awfully cut up to be turned neck
and heels out of what I believed would be my own, but if it must be, I
am glad it is you who do it, for I know you'll not be hard upon us, or
let Uncle Arthur be, even if mother is so mean. Remember, Jerrie, that I
loved you and asked you to be my wife when I believed you poor and
unknown.'

Tom was very politic and was speaking good words for himself, but all
the good there was in him seemed now to be on the surface and while
inwardly rebelling at his misfortune, he felt a thrill of joy in knowing
that Jerrie was his cousin, and would not be hard upon him.

'Shall we go back to the house?' he said at last, and they went back,
meeting the people upon the piazza, where they stopped for a moment
while Jerrie's hands were shaken, and she was kissed and congratulated
that at last the mystery was cleared, and her rights restored to her.

'Mr. Arthur Tracy ought to be here,' Judge St. Claire said.

'Yes, I'd thought of that,' Tom replied, first, 'and shall telegraph him
to-morrow,'

Then they said good night, and without going in to see either Mr. or
Mrs. Tracy again, Tom and Jerry walked slowly toward the cottage,
through the leafy woods, where the trees met in graceful arches
overhead, and the moonlight fell in silver flecks upon the grass, and
the summer air was odorous and sweet with the smell of the pines and the
balm of Gilead trees scattered here and there. It was a lovely place,
and Tom thought so with a keen sense of pain, as, after leaving Jerrie
at her gate, he walked slowly back until he reached the four pines,
where he sat down to think and wonder what he should do as a poor man,
with neither business nor prospects.

'I don't suppose the governor has laid up much,' he said, 'for since
Uncle Arthur came home he has done very little business, and has spent
what really was his own recklessly and without a thought of saving, he
was so sure to have enough at last, and Uncle Arthur was so free to give
us what we asked for. But that will end when he knows he has a daughter,
and as he never fancied me much, I shall either have to beg, or work, or
starve, or marry a rich wife, which is not so easy for a poor dog to do.
I don't suppose that Governor's daughter would look at me now, nor
anyone else who is anybody. By George, I ought to have called on Ann
Eliza before this time. I wonder if it's too late to go ther