ONE afternoon, three days after this, Simon Walton drove down the street to Dearing’s, and, alighting at the front gate, he carefully haltered his horse to the hitching-post with a rope he always carried under the buggy-seat. Then he opened the gate and trudged up the walk to the door.

Margaret saw him from the window of her room upstairs, and, thinking that he had called to see her uncle or her brother, she hurried down-stairs.

“Did you want to see my uncle?” she asked, sweetly.

“No, I didn’t, Miss Margaret.” Walton had taken off his broad-brimmed felt hat, and stood shifting it awkwardly from one hand to the other, a look at once grave and agitated on his gaunt face.

“Well, my brother is at his office,” the girl threw tentatively into the pause that had ensued; “at least, he said he was going there when he left here about two o’clock.”

“I didn’t want to see him, either,” and the old man tried to smile, but the effort was a grim failure. “The truth is, Miss Margaret, if I may make so bold, I wanted to see you. There is a little matter I sort o’ thought you and me might talk over maybe to mutual gain and profit.”

“You want to see me, really?” Margaret started. “Well, won’t you come in?”

Walton glanced into the wide hall doubtfully and fanned himself with his hat. “I don’t know; it must be kind o’ stuffy inside on a sweltering day like this, ain’t it?” he said, awkwardly. “Ain’t there a place out under the trees somewhere where we could set a minute? I was here one day with the General, and round that way—” Walton nodded his shaggy head to the right and broke off helplessly.

“Oh yes, and there are some chairs there, too,” Margaret answered. She was now quite grave, and she led the way with a certain erectness of carriage and with an air of restraint that was visible even to the crude sensibilities of her caller.

The chairs under the trees were reached. Walton seized the most comfortable-looking one, and for no obvious reason settled it firmly on the sod. “Now,” he said, and with bended body he waited for her to take it. When she had complied, he took a seat himself, dropping his hat on the grass beside him, only to recover it without delay, that it might rest on his sharp, unsteady knee. He looked up at the unclouded sky, at the overhanging boughs of the big oaks under which they sat. He cleared his throat, looked at Margaret, and then glanced over his shoulder at the roof and gables of the old house.

“You said, I think, that you came to see me,” Margaret reminded him, with as much voice as she could command, for all sorts of bewildering possibilities were flitting through her brain.

“Yes, I did, Miss Margaret,” he said, with a slight start. “If you was a man, now, I think we could get this thing over with in a short time; but I never had much dealings with women—that is, except in a purely business way. I can tell a woman she is over-checking, or offering me bad security, or needs better identification than a pair of bright eyes and rosy cheeks will furnish; but this thing that’s riz between me and you is plumb different. In the bank they come to me, but in this case, you see, I’m the supplicant. Miss Margaret, I’ve come to see you about my boy—about Fred.”

“Oh, you want to find him, and you think that perhaps I—” She went no further. Her first impulsive thought was that Walton had in some way heard of her meeting with Fred in New York and had come to obtain information as to his address.

“Oh no; I know where he is well enough.” The way seemed easier to the old man now, and he went on rapidly. “He is at Gate City, Oklahoma, Miss Margaret. He has been there all this time, and is doing mighty well; in fact, he has gone and got rich. You know the West is a powerful field for fresh, young blood to forge ahead in, and Fred struck it just right. He is a partner in a whopping big wholesale business there. He has been writing to me—that is, off and on. There was a little cash difference between his account and mine, and he finally made it good out of his earnings. I—I never was much of a hand to talk my business, you know, so I’ve never let on here at Stafford exactly how he was making out, but a time has come when I want to set him as nigh straight as possible before the community he was born and raised in; in fact, I want him to come home.”

“Yes, of course.” Margaret’s cold, pale lips formally dropped the words as her visitor paused and wiped his perspiring brow and fanned himself with his hat..

“Yes, I’ve just been out there to sort o’ settle up a little deal betwixt me and the man—twixt me and Fred’s business partner, and I must say the whole outlook was good. You know I reckon that everybody in this town sort o’ thought before Fred went off that he never would amount to much in a business way, but he is all right now. So, having nothing much to do at the bank this hot day, why, I thought I’d drive up here and see you about it.”

“See me about it? I really don’t understand,” the young lady faltered.

“Well, to come right to the point, Miss Margaret”—Walton avoided her wavering glance for a moment as he kicked the toe of his............