Mary rode to house after house on her way to Carlin, but met with no success in the matter of borrowing money. It was near noon when she entered the straggling suburbs of the village. At a ramshackle livery-stable she dismounted and left her horse in the care of a negro attendant whose father had once been owned by her family. She called him "Pete"; he addressed her as "Young Miss," and was most obsequious in his attentions and profuse in promises to care for her horse.

Opposite the hotel stood a tiny frame building having only one room. It was a lawyer\'s office, as was indicated by the sanded tin sign holding the gilt letters of the occupant\'s name—"Chester A. Lawton, At\'y at Law."

He was a young man under thirty, who had met Mary several times at the hotel when she was visiting Mrs. Quinby. He was seated at a bare table, reading a law-book, when she appeared at the open door. He had left off his coat, the weather being warm, and on seeing her he hastily got into it, flushing to the roots of his thick dark hair.

"You caught me off my guard, Miss Mary," he apologized, awkwardly. "I know I oughtn\'t to sit here without my coat in plain view of the street, but the old lawyers do it, and—"

"It is right for you to do so," Mary broke in, quite self-possessed. "I only wanted to see you a moment. I wanted to ask you what is customary in regard to fees for getting legal advice."

Lawton pulled at his dark mustache, even more embarrassed. "I—I—really am rather new at the work, Miss Mary; in fact, I\'m just getting started," he answered, haltingly. "I suppose that such things depend on the—the nature of the case, and the research work, reading, you know, and—oh, well, a lawyer sometimes has expenses. He has to travel in some cases. Yes, fees all depend on that sort of thing."

He was politely proffering a straight-backed chair, and as she sat down she forced a smile. "To be frank," she went on, "I don\'t know whether I really ought to employ a lawyer or not, and I was wondering how much it would cost to find out the probable expense."

"Oh, I see!" laughed Lawton, as he sat down opposite her, leaned on the table, and pushed his open book aside. "Well, I\'ll tell you, Miss Mary. I don\'t know what the older chaps do, but I make it a rule not to charge a cent for talking over a case with a person. That is right and proper. If you have any legal matter in mind, all you\'ve got to do is to state it to me—that is, if you have honored me by thinking my advice might be worth while—and if I see anything in your case I\'ll then advise you to proceed, or not, as I deem best."

Lawton seemed rather pleased at the untrammeled smoothness of his subdued oratory, and waited for her to speak.

Mary was silent for a moment, and then she said, "You see, I don\'t know whether I really ought to seek legal advice yet, at any rate, and—" She broke off suddenly.

"Miss Mary," said Lawton, trying to help her out, "may I ask if you are referring to—to the little trouble your brothers are in?"

She nodded, swallowed a lump of emotion in her throat, and looked him straight in the eyes. "Father wouldn\'t attend to it, and I got to worrying about it—about whether advice ought to be had or not. We are terribly hard up for ready money and have got into debt already."

"Well, I\'ll be frank with you, Miss Mary, and I\'m going to tell you something that may be to your interest. Now if you had gone to—we\'ll say to Webster and Bright, across the street, they, no doubt, would expect you to pay and pay big whether you needed a lawyer or not. Old law firms have strict rules on that line, I understand. Everything is \'grist that comes to their mill,\' as the saying is, for they will tell anybody that they are not paying office rent for fun. But it is different with a young chap that is just getting on his feet in the profession. Now, knowing you as I do, and having had several agreeable talks with you, I\'d hate like rips to charge for any advice I can give unless—unless it was of great benefit to you; and the truth is, I am not at all sure that you need a lawyer."

"Oh, you mean—But I don\'t understand!" Mary exclaimed, not knowing whether his words boded well or ill for her.

"Why, it is like this, Miss Mary. There are tricks in my trade, as in all others, and as matters stand in the case of your brothers—well, if Tobe Keith should happen to pull through, the charges against them would be so insignificant that the courts would be likely to dismiss them entirely. That, no doubt, is a slipshod method, but it is peculiar to us here in the South. You see, your father stands high—nobody higher, in fact; he fought for the Confederacy, has always been a perfect gentleman, and has no end of influential kinsfolk. Why, the district attorney himself is a sort of distant cousin, isn\'t he? Seems to me that I have heard him telling your father one day that if he ever printed that family history he\'d subscribe for several copies, because his name was to be in it, somehow—on h............