"What's up?" he repeated. "Humph! well, I should say the jig was up. The murder's out. The cat is no longer in the bag. That's about the size of it."

"Sylvester!" Caroline had never seen her uncle thoroughly angry before; "Sylvester," he cried, "have you--Have you dast to tell her what you shouldn't? Didn't you promise me? If you told that girl, I'll--I'll--"

His niece stepped forward. "Hush, Uncle Elisha," she said. "He didn't tell me until I knew already. I guessed it. Then I asked for the whole truth, and he told me."

"The whole truth? _Caroline!_"

He wrung his hands.

"Yes, Uncle, the whole truth. I know you now. I thought I knew you before; but I didn't--not half. I do now."

"Oh, Caroline!" he stepped toward her and then stopped, frantic and despairing. "Caroline! Caroline!" he cried again, "can you ever forgive me? You know--you must know I ain't ever meant to keep it. It's all yours. I just didn't give it to you right off because ... because....

Oh, Sylvester, tell her I never meant to keep it! Tell her!"

The lawyer shook his head. "I did tell her," he said, with another shrug, "and she tells me she won't accept it."

"What?" the captain's eyes were starting from his head. "What? Won't take it? Why, it's hers--hers and Steve's! It always has been! Do you cal'late I'd rob my own brother's children? _Don't_ talk so foolish!

I won't hear such talk!"

Caroline was close to tears, but she was firm.

"It isn't ours," she said. "It is yours. Our father kept it from you all these years. Do you suppose we will keep it any longer?"

Captain Elisha looked at her determined face; then at the lawyer's--but he found no help there. His chin thrust forward. He nodded slowly.

"All right! all right!" he said, grimly. "Sylvester, is your shop goin'

to be open to-morrer?"

"Guess not, Captain," was the puzzled reply. "It's Thanksgiving. Why?"

"But Graves'll be to home, won't he? I could find him at his house?"

"I presume you could."

"All right, then! Caroline Warren, you listen to me: I'll give you till two o'clock to make up your mind to take the money that belongs to you.

If you don't, I swear to the Lord A'mighty I'll take the fust train, go straight to New York, hunt up Graves, make him go down to the office and get that note your father made out turnin' all his property over to that Akrae Company. I'll get that note and I'll burn it up. Then--_then_ you'll have to take the money, because it'll be yours. Every bit of evidence that'll hold in law is gone, and n.o.body but you and Steve'll have the shadow of a claim. I'll do it, so sure as I live! There! now you can make up your mind."

He turned, strode to the door and out of the room. A moment later they heard a scream from Miss Baker in the kitchen: "'Lisha Warren, what ails you? Are you crazy?" There was no answer, but the back door closed with a tremendous bang.

Half an hour after his dramatic exit Captain Elisha was pacing up and down the floor of the barn. It was an old refuge of his, a place where he was accustomed to go when matters requiring deliberation and thought oppressed him. He was alone. Dan had taken the horse to the blacksmith's to be shod.

The captain strode across the floor, turned and strode back again. Every few moments he looked at his watch. It was a long way to two o'clock, but each additional moment was another weight piled upon his soul. As he turned in his stride he saw a shadow move across the sill of the big, open door. He caught his breath and stopped.

Caroline entered the barn. She came straight to him and put her hands upon the lapels of his coat. Her eyes were wet and shining.

"Caroline?" he faltered, eagerly.

"You good man!" she breathed, softly. "Oh, you _good_ man!"

"Caroline!" his voice shook, but there was hope in it. "Caroline, you're goin' to take the money?"

"Yes, Uncle Elisha. Mr. Sylvester has shown me that I must. He says you will do something desperate if I refuse."

"I sartin would! And you'll take it, really?"

"Yes, Uncle Elisha."

"Glory be! And--and, Caroline, you won't hold it against me, my makin'

you think you was poor, and makin' you live in that little place, and get along on just so much, and all that? Can you forgive me for doin'

that?"

"Forgive you? Can I ever thank you enough? I know I can't; but I can try all my life to prove what--"

"S-s-h-h! s-s-h!... There!" with a great sigh, almost a sob, of relief, "I guess this'll be a real Thanksgivin', after all."

But, a few minutes later, another thought came to him.

"Caroline," he asked, "I wonder if, now that things are as they are, you couldn't do somethin' else--somethin' that would please me an awful lot?"

"What is it, Uncle?"

"It's somethin' perhaps I ain't got any right to ask. You mustn't say yes if you don't want to. The other day you told me you cared for Jim Pearson, but that you sent him away 'cause you thought you had to earn a livin' for you and Steve. Now you know that you ain't got to do that.

And you said you told him if you ever changed your mind you'd send for him. Don't you s'pose you could send for him now--right off--so he could get here for this big Thanksgivin' of ours? Don't you think you could, Caroline?"

He looked down into her face, and she looked down at the barn floor. But he saw the color creep up over her forehead.

"Send for him--now?" she asked, in a low tone.

"Yes. Now--right off. In time for to-morrow!"

"He could not get here," she whispered.

"Yes, he could. If you send him a telegram with one word in it: 'Come'--and sign it 'Caroline'--he'll be here on to-morrow mornin's train, or I'll eat my hat and one of Abbie's bonnets hove in. Think you could, Caroline?"

A moment; then in a whisper, "Yes, Uncle Elisha."

"Hooray! But--but," anxiously, "hold on, Caroline. Tell me truly now.

You ain't doin' this just to please me? You mustn't do that, not for the world and all. You mustn't send for him on my account. Only just for one reason--because _you_ want him."

He waited for his answer. Then she looked up, blushing still, but with a smile trembling on her lips.

"Yes, Uncle Elisha," she said, "because _I_ want him."

The clouds blew away that night, and Thanksgiving day dawned clear and cold. The gray sea was now blue; the white paint of the houses and fences glistened in the sun; the groves of pitchpine were brilliant green blotches spread like rugs here and there on the brown hills. South Denboro had thrown off its gloomy raiment and was "all dolled up for Thanksgivin'," so Captain Elisha said.