revealed by the light of Mrs. Solomon Black's parlor lamp which stood
on a stand just inside the carefully screened window. "It looks," he
finished, "as if you--well; it may be a queer thing for me to say;
but I'll tell you frankly that when mother showed me the check she
got today I felt that it was--charity."

She shook her head.

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "You are quite, quite in the wrong."

"But you can't make me believe that with all your money--pardon me
for mentioning what everybody in the village is talking about--
You'll have to convince me that the old Bolton place has oil under
it, or coal or diamonds, before I--"

"Why should you need to be convinced of anything so unlikely?" she
asked, with gentle coldness.

He reddened angrily.

"Of course it's none of my business," he conceded.

"I didn't mean that. But, naturally, I could have no idea of coal or
oil--"

"Well; I won't work for you at any four dollars a day," he said
loudly. "I thought I'd like to tell you."

"I don't want you to," she said. "Didn't Deacon Whittle give you my
message?"