She was a pretty, tow-headed, rosy-cheeked creature, the daughter of
George Leadham, a widower, who adored her. He was looking at her now
with a strange light in his eyes. Not a man in the store but
interpreted aright the father's glance.

"What's the matter with pore old Pap?" she demanded.

The blacksmith caught her up, kissing her face, smoothing her curls.

"Just that, my pet," said he. "He's old, and he's poor--the poorest
man, ain't he, boys?--the very poorest man in Paradise."

The child looked puzzled. It would have taken a wiser head than hers
to understand the minds of the men about her.

"I thought old Pap was rich," she faltered.

"He ain't," said the blacksmith, hugging her tight. "He's poorer than
all of us poor folks put together."

"Oh, my!" said Sissy, opening her blue eyes. "No wonder he looks as if
someone'd hit him with a fence rail. Pore old Pap!" Then she whispered
some message, and father and child went out of the store.

We looked at each other. The storekeeper, who had children, blew his
nose with unnecessary violence. Ajax said, abruptly: "Boys, I've been
a fool. I've driven away the one man who might help us."

"That's all right," the storekeeper growled. "You done first-rate,
young man. You tole the ole cuss in plain words what we've bin a-