Lightnin'. Bacon Frank

so kind as you think!" He laughed, an honest humor rising to infrequent expression. "I've got to see Lightnin' myself before I go. He hasn't signed the deed yet, and – "

      "I really can't see what he's got to do with it!" Millie interrupted. "The place is mother's. Oh, well" – she sighed and shook her head in despair – "I suppose to be safe his signature must be obtained. I do hope he'll turn up before you leave. It's too bad – "

      "Well, if he doesn't, maybe you and Mrs. Jones can make him see the light. I'll leave the papers with you, and when he signs them you can send for me and I'll be up and – "

      "You don't know how much I appreciate all you've done for us. Now don't say it's nothing." Millie turned and put her hand on his arm, her eyes resting intently on his.

      He bent over her for a minute, then straightened up as he heard a slight movement in the portière, a gleam of wisdom illuminating his face. He smiled with a nonchalant disregard of his former intention and backed away from the girl.

      Millie's color mounted her forehead. Shyly she withdrew her hand from his arm and fumbled with the bunch of keys about her neck. After an awkward silence she continued:

      "You've been so good to us. When mother and I've been in such distress that we did not know where to turn and mother was nearly frantic, you come forward and in no time arrange everything so that mother and daddy are going to be better off than they ever dreamed of. For years, you know, mother and I have worried about her and daddy's old age. Piece by piece we've sold the land and the timber. Even if this place does pay it will only be running expenses, with nothing saved up, as you said. And then the Nevada divorce laws might change. Oh! You've been so kind," she breathed, in deep sincerity.

      "Now don't make me ashamed," Thomas coaxed in his soothing way, backing slowly toward the stairs on the California side. "What I've done is just the simplest thing in the world. I grew to be very fond of you when you were in my office, Millie, and I'm glad to be of what service I can."

      As he was half-way up the stairs, Mrs. Jones emerged from behind the portière. He stopped and bent in a nattering bow, a twinkle in his eye. "Why, good morning, Mrs. Jones!" he called down.

      "Oh, excuse me!" Mrs. Jones, a guilty conscience bringing his courtly sarcasm, which would otherwise have escaped her gullible nature, into notice, stepped back, turning to the kitchen, whence she had come when she stopped to listen. But Millie followed her, and, with arm around her waist, drew her into the room and seated her near the table.

      "You're not going into that hot kitchen again to-day," remonstrated Millie, planting a daughterly kiss on her cheek. "You've been out there working like a slave for three mortal hours."

      Mrs. Jones hid her hands awkwardly under her apron and reddened as she glanced up at Thomas, who had come back from above-stairs.

      "I don't look presentable," she murmured, fidgeting in the chair.

      "Come now, you mustn't mind me," said Thomas, Millie adding her word to his: "Please stay there just for a few minutes, mother. You look ready to drop."

      "She's always tellin' me that." Mrs. Jones showed her pleasure in Millie's concern by beaming knowingly from one to the other, an act which sent Millie to the desk, where she pretended to look at the register.

      Thomas smiled. "Millie's right," he responded. "You do work a great deal too hard; but it won't be long now before you can say good-by to hard work for the rest of your life."

      "Oh, Mr. Thomas!" Mrs. Jones arose, forgetting the red, hardened hands she had been endeavoring to hide behind the blue and white checked apron, and hastened to Thomas, holding them toward him in a gesture half of gratitude, half of pleading. "I can scarcely realize that all this is going to come true and we owe it all to you. I only wish I could tell you how grateful I am."

      Thomas was quite determined to escape further enthusiasm, either on Millie's or on Mrs. Jones's part. His game nearly played, he wished to withdraw gracefully and without detriment to a certain lurking decency which had not quite been swept away. Thwarting Mrs. Jones's attempt to wring his hand in gratitude, he took two light bounds up the stairs, stopping to laugh back: "Well, I'm going to get out for fear you'll spoil me with a thankfulness I don't deserve. Hang on to her, Millie." He directed a gleam toward the young girl as she went up to her mother. "Make her take a rest."

      "Oh dear! Do you think I've driven him away?" There was genuine concern in Mrs. Jones's voice as she sank back into the chair and gazed anxiously after Thomas.

      "No, you haven't." Millie smoothed the brown hair which was fast streaking with gray from her brow, damp with excitement. "He is going up-stairs to pack. He's arranged everything about selling the place, and there's nothing more for him to stay – "

      "You're here, ain't you?" Mrs. Jones folded her arms stiffly across her chest and assumed a rigid position in her chair as she questioned Millie with eyes suddenly grown fierce with the look of an angry hen when she thinks her brood has been disturbed.

      "Oh, mother!" The girl pursed her lips into a pouting smile as she leaned over the back of the chair, an affectionate arm on Mrs. Jones's shoulder. "Please get that foolish idea out of your head. You know – "

      "Know nothin'." Mrs. Jones's head jerked vehemently while she insisted: "Every letter you wrote home all the time you was workin' in his office showed that he cared for you."

      "I never wrote anything of the sort!" Millie drew a surprised breath as her mouth was drawn into a tiny O of expostulation. "Never!" she reiterated, with a slight stamp of her foot, as she went to the California desk and became absorbed in the register.

      "Oh, I could read between the lines! I ain't that stupid. If he isn't in love with you, why is he plannin' for us to come and live in San Francisco? Oh, won't it be grand!" Mrs. Jones, carried away by the recollection of a long-ago visit to the city, and by a dream of what a permanent life there would be, resumed her own hearty enthusiasm. "I want to live in the city real bad, but I'm just skeered to death I won't know how to dress. I want to get a lot o' pretty things 'n' be like the women I saw when I was at the Palace. Do ye think Bill 'll think I'm getting crazy?"