bill that is burning a hole in my pocket, and it goes for this load of
wood or you have me to whip. We are out of stove-wood, too, and I don't
want any dickering from you about it."

Joel flushed under his tattered straw hat. "It isn't worth that much,"
he declared, tapping the ground with his whip.

"It is worth it to me, Joel," Cavanaugh smiled, "so what can you do
about it? I won't take double value from any man, much less you. How is
Tilly?"

"She is fairly well, thank you," the farmer replied.

"And the little ones?" Mrs. Cavanaugh asked, with a motherly smile.

"They are both all right, thank you," Joel said, his undecided glance on
his wood. Then, to his surprise, the contractor came through the gate,
took the reins from his hands, and drove the horse with its load around
to the gate at the side of the house. Halting there, Cavanaugh began to
throw the wood over the fence.

"Let him have his way, Joel," Mrs. Cavanaugh said, smiling. "He'd be
miserable if he got anything too cheap from an old friend like you.
Before you start home, come in; I've made two little waists for the
children from a pattern Tilly lent me the last time she was in. I hope
they will fit."

"You are always doing things like that, and yet want me to take double
price for my produce," Joel said, frowning. "Something is wrong
somewhere, Mrs. Cavanaugh."

The old woman laughed lightly. "Go help Sam throw off the wood, Joel,"
she said. "Don't tell me I haven't the right to sew for little children
when I have none of my own. I love your two, and what I do for them has
nothing to do with you."

With a look of blended pleasure and pain, Joel joined Cavanaugh, and
together they unloaded the wagon. When it was empty Joel shook the bits
of bark and chips from the plank flooring, and stared at the contractor
timidly. "There is a matter I want to ask you about, Mr. Cavanaugh," he
began, clearing his throat. "It is a serious thing for me, and my wife,
too. I've wanted to mention it for several days--in fact, since I first
heard of it. I really don't know whether I have the right to ask you,
and if I haven't you must stop me. Mr. Cavanaugh, all sorts of stories
have been floating about to the effect that--that my wife's--that John
Trott's reported death was a mistake, and that--and that you went up to
New York to--"

Joel broke off. He was quite agitated.

"I know what you mean," Cavanaugh put into the break. "How did you hear
it?"

"My ne