Memory, as we old folk know, be the plaything of time, and when trouble comes and we wilt and reckon life’s ended, the years roll unresting on, and the storm passes, and the dark breaks to grey again, and, may be, even the sun’s self peeps forth once more. For our little wits ain’t built to hold grief for ever, else the world would be a lunatic asylum and not the tolerable sane and patient place we mostly find it.

It was like that with my friend, Jonas Bird. When his wife died, and left him and three young childer, his light went out, and though no more than thirty-five years of age, he felt ’twas the end of the world. He comforted his cruel sufferings with the thought of a wonnerful tombstone to Sarah Bird, and there’s no doubt that tombstones, though they can’t make or mar the dead, have, time and again, softened the lot of the living. And you may say that poor Sarah’s mark in the churchyard was the subject that first began to calm Jonas. But it did a lot more than that.

He was a sandy-headed man with old-fashioned whiskers, a long face like a horse, blue eyes and a wondering expression. In fact, life did astonish him a good bit, and being a simple soul, most things that happened were apt to puzzle him. A carpenter by trade, he did very well in that walk of life and had saved money. But he had long lived for one thing only, and that was Sarah, and when she dropped sudden and left him with two little boys and a girl babe, he was more puzzled than ever and went in a proper miz-maze of perplexity that such things could be.

Everybody liked Jonas, for he was a kindly and well-intending creature, and his wife had been such another, and a good few women rushed to the rescue when the blow fell. And his master, a childless man and very fond of Bird, offered to adopt one of his boys and take the lad off his hands. But Jonas clung to all three, because, as he truly said, they each had a good bit of their mother in ’em and he couldn’t spare a pinch of Sarah. And his wife’s first and dearest woman friend it was who came to the rescue at this season and stopped along with Jonas, for the children’s sake and the dead woman’s.

Milly Bassett, she was called, and she ministered to the orphaned children and talked sense to the widow man; and though an old maid here and there didn’t think it a seemly thing for Milly to take up her life under Bird’s roof, the understanding and intelligent sort thought no evil. For of such a creature as Milly Bassett no evil could be thought.

She was the finest-minded woman ever came out of Thorpe-Michael in my opinion, and she only had one idol and that was duty, and when Sarah, on her death-bed, prayed Milly to watch over Jonas and the family till the poor man recovered from his sorrows and wed again, then Milly promised to do so. And her promises were sacred in her eyes. And if any was mean enough to think ill of her for so doing, she’d have said such folk didn’t know her and their opinions were no matter.

A flaxen woman grey-eyed and generous built was Milly. She lived with an old mother who was a laundress, and the old mother took it very ill when her daughter went to mind the dead woman’s little ones; but, as Milly herself said, there was only one man who needed to be considered before she went to her holy task, and that was William White.

You see, Miss Bassett had long been tokened to William, and if he’d objected, it must have put her in a very awkward position with the promise to a dead woman pulling one way and her duty to a live lover pulling the other. But it happened that William White was a very good friend to Jonas, like everybody else, and he didn’t see no good reason why for his sweetheart shouldn’t lend a hand at such a sorrowful time.

Moreover, there was a bit of money in it, and Milly’s William happened to be a man whose opinions and principles had never been known to stand between him and a shilling. So when Jonas insisted on paying Milly Bassett ten bob a week over and above her keep all clear profit William raised no objection whatever. He weren’t a jealous man quite the contrary and his engagement to marry Milly weren’t an affair of yesterday. In fact, at this time, they’d been contracted a good two years, and though the man felt quite willing to wed when ever Milly was minded to, she’d got her ideas and she’d made it clear from the very start that not until her intended could show her four pound a week would she take the step.

And William White, though a good horseman and a champion with the plough and well thought upon by Farmer Northway, could not yet rise to that figure, though he went in hope that it might happen. He’d tried round about on the farms to better his wages, for he was amazing fond of money, but up to the present nobody seemed to think William was worth more than three pound ten, or three pound with a cottage.

So Milly waited. She loved William in a temperate sort of way, though there was points in his character she didn’t much hold with; but she’d given her word to wed him in fullness of time, and she was the sort never to part from her word for no man. They kept company calm and contented, with no emotions much to either side, though now-and-a-gain William would venture to say he thought she might bate her terms and take him for ten shillings less. But this she weren’t prepared to do; and so it stood when Mrs. Bird died and Milly, who had worshipped the dead woman, came to take her place till time had worked on Jonas and he was able to look round for another. For that his Sarah had always wished he should do, well knowing the poor man couldn’t carry on without a spouse.

Jonas was terrible obliged to Milly for coming, and to William for letting her do so, and he was the soul of goodness in the whole matter and made William free of his house and saved him the price of many a meal. In fact William rather exceeded reason in that matter and dropped in at supper-time too often for decency; but it was his sweetheart and not Jonas who opened his eyes to his manners and told him there was reason in all things.

They weren’t none too mad in love, as Jonas found out in course of time. In fact Milly was temperate in all things and had never known to lose her nerve or temper; while as for William White, he’d got her promise and knew she was the faithful-unto-death sort and would wait till he could raise what she considered the proper income for a married woman to begin upon.

The widower soon found out the fashion of sense that belonged to Milly for, while still in his great grief, he began to talk of spending fifty pounds of capital on Sarah’s grave, and she heard him and advised against.

“As to that,” she said, “I knew your dear wife better’n anybody on earth but yourself, Jonas, and this I will say: if she thought you’d heaved up fifty pounds’ worth of marble stone on her, she wouldn’t lie quiet for an instant moment. You know that modesty was Sarah’s passion, and she’d rather have a pink daisy on her pit and a blackbird pulling a worm out of the green grass than all the monuments in the stone-cutter’s window.”

He listened and she ran on:

“Her virtues be in our hearts, and it won’t better it to print ’em in the churchyard; and if I was you and wanted to make heaven a brighter place for Sarah than it already is, I’d lift up a modest affair and put a bit of money away to goody for your little ones.”

“I dare say that’s a very clever thought,” admitted Jonas.

“Yes, it is, then,” went on Milly. “She didn’t help you to be a saver for vain things like grave-stones that don’t bring in no interest to nobody. And if it was the measurement of your sorrow, I’d say nothing, but ’tis well known remorse be at the foundation of half the fine monuments widow men put up to their partners, and you don’t need to tell nobody in Thorpe-Michael what you thought of Sarah and how she was the light of your house, for we well know it.”

“I won’t do nothing skimpy, however,” said Jonas.

“I’m sure you won’t,” she answered, “but in the matter of monuments ’tis a very good rule to wait till the grave be ready to carry ’em; and by that time the bereaved party have generally settled down to take a sensible view of the situation.”

He nodded, and from that evening he began to see what a fine headpiece Milly had got to her. In fact she was a very entertaining woman and as time went on and his childer grew to love her, Jonas was a lot puzzled at the thoughts that began to move in his brain. He turned to work, which is a very present help in trouble, and he did overtime and laboured something tremendous at his bench. In fact, if he’d belonged to a Trades Union, Jonas would have heard of it to his discredit, for there’s nothing the unions dread more than a man who loves work and does all he knows for the pride of it plus the extra money. But Jonas was on his own and independent to all but his conscience and his master didn’t see no sin in paying him what he was worth.

He’d always been a saver, and his wife had helped him in that respect, but now his money was no more than dust in the corners of his mind, for there weren’t no eye to brighten when he told of a bit more put by and no tongue to applaud and tell him what a model sort of man he was. He found, however, as he came to know Milly Bassett better, that though his good fortune and prosperity was nothing to her, yet she could praise him for it. So, little by little, he gave her a peep into his affairs and found she was one of them rare people who can feel quite a bit of honest interest in their neighbour’s good luck, with no after-clap of sourness, because their own ain’t so bright.

’Twas natural the woman should contrast her horseman with Jonas and wish he’d got the same orderly sort of mind; but she had the wit to see that it takes all sorts to make a world, and while William liked money a lot better than earning it, Jonas liked the earning and didn’t set no lustful store on the stuff itself.

Still money’s a power, and there’s no doubt ’twas the hidden power of his purse which presently tempted the carpenter to a most unheard of piece of work. Never a man less likely to do anything out of the common you might have thought, yet life worked on him and time and chance prompted until that everyday sort of chap was finally lifted up to an amazing deed.

Round about a year after his wife died, the thought came to him and gradually growed till it mastered him and led to a wonderful stroke. And it showed, if that wanted showing, that you never know what gifts be hid in anybody, or what the simplest man will rise to in the way of craft, given the soil to ripe his wits and the prompting to lift him up.

Jonas found himself more and more interested in the love affair of William and Milly, and having studied the situation in all its bearings and measured the characters of the man and woman and taken the subject also to the Throne of Grace, for he was a prayerful creature, he finally considered that it now lay in his power to make the first move, since that had to come from him. And the second move would have to be made by William White; and it all depended upon William whether there remained an opening left for Jonas, or whether the affair was closed. For he was a most honourable chap in all things and never one to best a neighbour even if opportunity offered.

Some men, for example, might have tried to tempt Milly Bassett away from William and hold out the attractions to be got with such a husband as Jonas; but no such thought ever darkened the carpenter’s mind. He’d certainly got to a pitch when he dearly wanted Milly, for with his soul at rest and memory growing fainter, she seemed to reflect all the beauties of his late partner, along with several of her own; but Jonas well knew that she was tokened to William and would never leave him for another, but wait till time cured all. To tempt Milly was out of the question; yet he couldn’t see no particular reason why he shouldn’t tempt William, or at any rate inquire into William’s attitude on the subject. And knowing the horseman exceeding well by now and perceiving that, strictly speaking, William couldn’t be considered in the least worthy of such a wife as Milly, Jonas went his way and done his dashing deed.

On a day in early spring White was ploughing and Jonas Bird, who’d gone to Four Ways Farm to measure up for a new pigs’ house, took care to come home along past the field where White was at work. And he knew that at noon William’s horses would have their nose-bags and the ploughman would be sitting in the hedge eating his dinner. And there he was, in a famous lew hedge facing the sun, where the childer find the first white violets of the year.

So Jonas pitched beside the man and said they was well met.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you all alone this longful time,” said Jonas; “and I’m very wishful to ask you a question, Bill. You mustn’t think me impertinent nor nothing like that. You and me be very good friends and long may we remain so; but I’ve took careful note of your character, and you know me just so well, so you’ll understand, please, I be asking in a very gentlemanly spirit and not for no vulgar curiosity nor nothing like that.”

“My!” said William, “what a lot of talk, Jo! Spit it out. I’ll answer any question you like to ask if I can so do.”

“’Tis just this, then, and you go on with your meal,” answered Jonas. “What’s the thing you set highest in all the world?”

“Money,” said William, and Jonas nodded.

“So I thought,” he replied, “and if it had been any other thing, I’d have left it at that; but as I’ve got your own word, I may take it that money comes first.”

“First and last and always,” answered William. “And hell knows I don’t get my share.”

“Money comes first and Milly Bassett second that would be a fair way to put it?” asked Jonas.

Well, White thought a minute before he replied. “When you say ‘Milly,’” he began, “you touch a delicate subject, and I ain’t none too sure if I didn’t ought to tell you to shut your mouth. But still, I don’t deny but that’s about the size of it. Me and Milly have been tokened very near three years, and perfect love, Jo, on them terms may cast out fear and a lot else, but it don’t get you no forwarder quite the contrary. Love don’t keep for ever, more than a leg of mutton will, and sometimes it comes across me it may go a bit stale, if not actually bad. I fear nought myself, of course, because Milly’s a woman of her word and knows no changing; but that cuts both ways and, while she’s so firm as a rock about my wages and in a manner of speaking puts money before love, then I sometimes wonder who could blame me for doing the same. We’m very good friends, and she’ll be a damned fine wife, no doubt when I get her; but, meantime, things run a little on the cool side and I can’t pretend I feel so furious set in that quarter as I did three year agone. She ain’t the only pebble on the beach, to say it kindly, though a most amazing wonder and well worth waiting for in reason. But there’s others not a few very comely creatures as would reckon me along with three ten a week quite good enough. I can’t hide that from myself.”

Well, this was meat and drink to Jonas, but he hid his heart for the present, though his great excitement made his voice run up till it broke and he had to begin again a thing that happened to him sometimes.

“That being so,” he said, “that being so, Bill, how would you feel if anybody was to say: ’Here’s good money for changing your future career, if you ain’t too addicted to Milly Bassett to take it?’”

“Money for her?” asked William.

“Money enough to turn your affections into another quarter and let her go free.”

“God’s truth, Jo! You’ve gone and loved her!” shouted William.

“No,” answered the carpenter. “By this hand I have not, Bill. I’m not one to love any created woman as be tokened to another man and well you know it. To do so would be a wicked thing. But this I may tell you open and honest: if Milly were a free woman, then I should love her instanter.”

“Dammy, Jo! You want to buy her!” said William.

But Jonas shook his head.

“I reverence the woman far, far too much to want any such thing,” he said. “You can’t buy and sell females in a Christian land; but this I’ll say, if you can honestly feel that a good dollop of money would recompense you for losing Milly, things being as they are, then I’m your man. Of course if you feel money’s dross before the thought of her, then I shall well understand and we won’t touch the subject no more. And, in any case, never a breath must get to her ears else she’d leave my house like a whirlwind, and quite right to do so. But if you feel that you could make shift with another fine woman and might tear yourself away from Milly Bassett for a bit in the bank if you feel that, William, and only so, then we can go on talking.”

William White laughed and ate a bit of pie that hung on his fork. Then he drank from his cider runlet. “What a world!” he said.

Jonas didn’t answer and let his great thought sink into the man.

Presently William put a nice point. “Needless to ask if you’ve whispered any of this to her?”

“God’s my judge, Bill.”

“Well, there’s one thing I’d put afore you, Jo. Suppose we can agree to a price, what happens if, when your turn comes to offer, she turns you down and we’re both left?”

“A natural question, Bill, and I’d thought of it, for there’s no vanity in me and it might very likely happen. And my understanding of that position is this: If she says ‘No’ to me, after you’ve given her her liberty, then I’ve made a bad investment and my feeling would be to cut a loss; but if on the other hand she says ‘Yes,’ then I’d go a bit higher.”

“A sum down when I’ve chucked her, and a bit over if you get her.”

“When you say a sum down, Bill, you’d better consider of it,” explained Jonas. “A sum down there will certainly be; but if you saw your way to take the money by instalments, then you’d benefit considerable in the upshot, because, by instalments, I could pay a good bit more than I could in a lump.”

“I see that,” admitted the horseman. “Well, on the general questions, Jo, I may say that I’ll do business. That far I’m prepared to go; but when it comes to figures, I’d very much like to hear your ideas. This is a bit out of my experience; but I warn you, you’ve got to pay money.”

“I know that,” answered Jonas. “I know that very well indeed. I can’t pay half nor yet a quarter of what she’d be worth to me, for the reason a king’s ransom wouldn’t do it; but money I will pay. I’ll pay you a hundred a year for four years, William.”

“And interest while ’tis running?” asked the horseman.

“Yes,” answered Jonas, “interest while ’tis running.”

“That’s if you don’t get her?”

“No, Bill; that’s if I do get her.”

White considered. ’Twas very big money, of course, but he tried for a bit more.

“You must remember that when I throw her over I’m a disgraced man, Jo.”

“I wouldn’t say that. ’Twill be a shadow on your name for a minute, but such things fall out every day and be very quickly forgot. Milly’s the only one that matters and I don’t think you’re the best partner in the world for her, else I’d never have touched the subject. But if you use your cleverness and put it to her that ’tis undignified for you both to go on waiting for ever, she’ll very likely see it.”

“She might, or again she mightn’t.”

“She would,” declared Jonas. “I ain’t watched you and her for a year for nothing. This ain’t going to be the shattering wrench for her you might think, William.”

White knew that very well, but dwelt on his own downfall, and loss. “Make it five hundred win or lose,” he said at last, “and I’ll oblige you.”

And Jonas Bird agreed instantly, for at the bottom of his heart he weren’t feeling it no wildgoose chase for him; because, though a simple man in some ways, he didn’t lack caution, and he’d unfolded his feelings pretty oft to Milly, speaking, of course, in general terms; and he well knew that she felt high respect for his character and opinions and good position.

Then William spoke.

“If you’d like it in writing, you can have it,” he said, “but for my part I trust you, and I doubt not you trust me, and I’m inclined to think the less that be put down on paper about it, the better. ’Tis a deed of darkness, in a manner of speaking, and written documents have often brought disasters with ’em afterwards, so us had best to trust each other and sign nought.” Jonas agreed to this most emphatic and then they parted.

But it weren’t twenty-four hours later before the carpenter felt the deed was afoot, for he soon saw that Milly had got a weight on her mind. She said nought, however, till a week was past and then told Jonas, confidential, that she savoured something in the air.

“There’s some people can smell rain,” she said, “and others, if they go in a churchyard, know to a foot when they be walking over their own future graves; and though I’m not one to meet trouble half-way, it’s borne in on me that I be going to face changes afore long.”

“In what direction?” asked Jonas, cunning as a serpent. “God send you don’t mean that William be going to get his rise and take you away?”

“I do not,” she said. “Quite the contrary. I mean that William be going to change his mind about me.”

“And would you call that meeting trouble exactly, or contrariwise?” asked Bird.

“Well,” she answered. “Between you and me, I may say that I shall doubtless get over it; but I’m a good bit hurt, because it had got to be an understood thing and I little like changes. But there it is: the man’s getting restless and be pruning his wings for flight if I know him.”

“’Tis beyond belief that any living man should want to fly from you,” declared Jonas. “I wouldn’t come between lovers for a bag of gold; but in a case like this, feeling for you as I always have done since you kept your promise to Sarah with such amazing perfection feeling that, if you say the word, I’ll talk to William White as no man yet have talked to him.”

“Do nothing,” she said. “Let nature take its course with William; and if it takes him away from me, so be it. I can very well endure to part from the man and, so like as not, when I’m satisfied that things are so, I shall tell him I understand, and give him his freedom.”

“Such largeness of mind I never heard tell about in a woman,” answered Jonas.

And six weeks later William and Milly were cut loose, without any fuss on her part but to the undying amazement of Thorpe-Michael. And then Jonas paid his first instalment at dead of night and got a receipt for the same.

’Twas after that the carpenter’s anxieties began. He’d hoped that Milly would be a lot cast down by this reverse and that he’d fill the gap and comfort her and support her through the sad affair; but she didn’t want no support. In fact she talked most sensible about being jilted and confessed that it might be all for the best in the long run. “Nought happens save by the will of Heaven,” she said, “and I can look at it with a good conscience which be a tower of strength, and I can even go so far as to tell myself that Daisy Newte may make a better wife for Bill than me; for that’s where his eyes are turning.”

“Daisy Newte! Good God the blindness of the bachelor male!” swore Jonas.

And from that day forward he was at her respectful, but unsleeping.

His fear was that, now she stood free of a man, her nice feeling would take her from under his roof and of course there was plenty of women who pointed this out to Milly Bassett; but in her fine way she despised the mind that thinks evil for choice and said ’twas a pity that good thoughts was not put into the human heart instead of bad ones.

She said: “If my character can’t rise above Thorpe-Michael, ’tis pity. And the man, or woman, who could whisper a bad thought against Jonas Bird be beneath my notice and his’n.”

And then he offered for her and she took him; and then, after that, of course, she left his home till the wedding.

And the carpenter’s childer yowled their heads off when she went, and couldn’t very easy be made to understand that Milly was only away for a few weeks and would soon be back to bide with ’em. William tried hard to get a bit more cash out of Jonas when he heard the glad news; but, though feeling kindly to heaven above and earth beneath after his wonnerful triumph, Milly’s future husband felt that with his new calls and doing up his home and buying poultry for his wife birds being a thing she doted on that William must be content. He paid another fifty down and made it clear that no more must be counted on for six months. And the horseman said no more at that time, being a good bit occupied with Daisy Newte by then. For she was walking with him and very near won. And afore Christmas, he’d got her.

All went well and everybody wished Jonas joy and Milly luck. ’Twas thought a very reasonable match, for Bird stood high in the public esteem and the folk had long since felt that Milly might do much better than William. But they admired her honesty and the way she’d stuck to him and felt she’d been richly rewarded. In fact Jonas and Milly were a devoted pair and not a cloud darkened their wedded life for a good few years.

Then came the fatal affair of the bargain, and though pretty easy about the instalments till he’d got three children of his own, from that time forth there’s no doubt William began to fret Jonas cruel. Because, you see, the crafty toad had bargained for interest running, and Jonas, not understanding these things and guessing such matters was always five per centum and no more, had agreed to pay it. But this is where William got the better of him, for White went to a friend of his at Dartmouth and between them they figured up a very clever scheme which caused Jonas a lot of inconvenience.

They explained to him the wonderful ways of compound interest, and though he couldn’t see ’em, he had to feel ’em, and he found, as time passed, that far from paying off William’s five hundred, do what he might the money still piled up against him. There was complications, too, for of course he had no other secret than this from his wife, and Milly read him like a book, and after they was wed four years, Jo reached a pitch when he couldn’t conceal his anguish. For presently, puzzling over the figures for the hundredth time, he came to the fearful conclusion that he’d already paid William over five hundred pounds, and yet, if White was to be trusted, there was three figures of money still owing to him by compound interest.

He had it out with William the next time he got him alone; but the horseman declared himself as a good bit surprised that a little thing like cash should fret such a happy and prosperous creature as Jonas Bird.

“Good powers!” he said, “haven’t you found out that Milly was worth all the money in the Bank of England? And then to grouse because you bain’t out of debt for her! Hell!” said William White, “you needn’t think I wouldn’t be off the bargain to-morrow and gladly pay you all the money twice over for Milly back again!”

Because, you see, his Daisy, though a nice girl up to a point, was very human in some things and had failed, both as a wife and a mother, owing to her fatal fondness for liquid refreshment. ’Twas a family weakness which had been kept out of William’s knowledge while he was courting; but marriage and the cares of childer and so on, had woke a thirst in Daisy that made her difficult. So William weren’t in a mood to lighten up for Jonas, and he said that figures can’t lie and the loan must run its appointed course if it took ten years to do so. He’d got the whip-hand, no doubt, because it weren’t a subject for any other ear, though Jonas, in his despair, did once think of going to parson with it. But the thought of laying bare the past and seeing parson’s scorn was more than he could face, and he hid it up.

At last, however, he felt the tax past bearing, for it was making an old man of him; and then he braced himself and called on his Maker to see him through and done the wisest thing that ever he had done. In a word, he told Milly. He told her when they’d gone to bed one Christmas night and unbosomed his troubled mind. He’d paid William another fifty only the week night before and, as he presently confessed to Milly, ’twas the last straw that broke his back and sent him to throw himself on her mercy.

He bade her list, then told the tale from the beginning, told it honest without straining truth in any particular. And Milly listened and said not a word till he was done.

“So there it is,” finished Jonas “a choice of evils for me ’twixt stripping up the past afore your eyes and letting William bleed me to my dying day seemingly. And knowing you, I reckoned the wisest thing was to come to you with the naked tale and hide naught. William says figures can’t lie, and he may or may not be right, but I’ve got it fixed in my mind that he’s making ’em lie; and, be it as it will, he’s had enough, and I’m properly sick of putting big money in his pocket instead of yours, where all that is mine belongs by right.”

Milly kept silent a bit, but he knew by her calm breathing that she weren’t going to throw the house out of windows over it, or make a scene. In fact, she’d never been known to make a scene in all her life and weren’t likely to begin now.

She spoke at last.

“There’s some women would be a good bit put about to hear these things, Jo,” she said, and he granted the truth of it.

“I can’t call home one but yourself as wouldn’t,” he said, “but you are the top flower in the basket of women at Thorpe-Michael, and have got intellects and the wit to see ’twas nothing but my great passion for you as led me into this mess. And though business is business and no man can ever say I drew back in a bargain, yet I’ve got a good bit enraged with William lately, and I feel ’tis more’n time this here compounded interest come to an end.”

“How much have he had?” asked Milly, and Jonas gave her the figures, which was branded in letters of fire on his mind, so to say.

“Five hundred and seventy-eight,” he said, “and still he’s got the front to swear I owe him near two more hundred.”

“I’ve puzzled sometimes where your money was going,” she told him, “but, knowing you, I well understood ’twas safe.”

“Thank God you came to the task with your usual high courage and sense,” he answered. “And thank God, also, that you think none the worse of me. And don’t you imagine I grudge the money itself. On the low level of cash you was worth the Mint of England ten times over; but the question afore me is, looking at my deal with William as a money bargain between man and man, whether he ain’t going a bit over and beyond doing me in the eye.”

“I reckon he is,” said Milly. “Five hundred and seventy-eight’s enough, Jo, and I’m proud, in a manner of speaking, you could rise it. I’m very fortunate in having you for a husband, because the man wasn’t born to suit me better; and I should never have neighboured with William so fine as what I have done with you. But you was fortunate, too, in finding a chap as would take cash for what you was so willing to buy.”

“I was,” he granted. “Providence never done any member of my family such a turn as it done me when it sent you to my roof; but, outside that, touching William Bird, I be growing to feel However, if you say ’Go on paying, William,’ I’ll do so very well content; but if, on the other hand, you reckon that the man’s Jewing me and did ought to be spoke to, then I’ll be still better content.”

“He shall be spoke to,” she answered, “and I’ll speak to him. We are very good friends and I’m sorry for him, because he’s drawn a blank; and I’ve noticed, now and again, he’s looked at me as if he was a good bit vexed we ever parted. And no doubt he’s had queer thoughts and weighed his money against me and wondered whether it has served him better than what I should.”

“Damn queer thoughts, I’ll lay my life,” said Jonas. “And I’m sorry for him, also as a Christian man, because he’s quite clever enough to know what he’s lost, and the bitterness no doubt runs into my compound interest.”

“Go to sleep now,” she said, “and fret no more. You can leave the rest to me.”

So he blessed her for the wonder she was, and, with the load lifted from his heart, soon slept like a child.

Milly Bird took an early chance to see William, and what passed between them would have been very exciting to know and perchance an interesting side-glance on human nature; but none ever heard it save their Maker; and not Jonas himself, though he was cruel inquisitive, ever larned no details.

“’Tis no matter,” said Milly to her husband. “We had a tell about it, and William’s all right and won’t want no more money. He’s a very clever chap and ain’t wishful for nobody to hear tell of his doings in the past, least of all poor Daisy. So that’s that. And there shan’t be no ill blood and there shan’t be no more cash, and all friends notwithstanding.”

Which fell out just as the remarkable woman ordained it should.