back against the wall of the house.

The last of the evening was gone from the sky, now. The soft darkness of
a clear, star-light night lay over the land. A gentle breeze stole over
the mountains, rustled softly through the forest, and, drifting across
the river, touched Auntie Sue's silvery hair.

Judy was first to break the silence: "I took notice neighbor Tom brung
you-all a right smart bunch of letter mail this evenin'," she said,
curiously.

There was a troubled note in Auntie Sue's gentle voice as she returned,
"The letter from the bank did not come, Judy."

"Hit didn't?"

"No; and, Judy, it is nearly four weeks, now, since I sent them that
money. I can't understand it."

"I was plumb scared at the time, you oughten ter sent hit just in
er letter that a-way. Hit sure looked like a heap of money ter be
a-trustin' them there ornery post-office fellers with, even if hit was
funny, new-fangled money like that there was. Why, ma'm, you take old
Tod Stimson, down at the Ferry, now, an' that old devil'd steal anythin'
what warn't too much trouble for him ter lift."

"Argentine notes the money was, Judy. I felt sure that it would be all
right because, you know, Brother John sent it just in a letter all the
way from Buenos Aires. And, you remember, I folded it up in extra heavy
paper, and put it in two envelopes, one over the other, and mailed it at