“Oh, that's a _little_ thing,” said the Colonel; but his watchful daughter saw that the mere smallness of Milburn's raise in his offer had had a depressing effect on her father's rather doubtful valuation of the property in question. The truth was that Wilson had employed the shrewdest trader in all that part of the country, and one who worked all the more effectively for his plainness of dress and rough manner. “That's a little thing,” went on the Colonel, “but here's what I 'll do--” “Father,” broke in Dolly, “don't make a proposition to Mr. Milburn. Please don't.” Milburn turned to her, his big brows contracting in surprise, but he controlled himself. “Heigho!” he laughed, “so you've turned trader, too, Miss Dolly? Now, I jest wish my gals had that much enterprise; they git beat ef they buy a spool o' thread.” The Colonel frowned and Mrs. Barclay turned to Dolly with a real tone of reproof. “Don't interfere in your father's business,” she said. “He can attend to it.” The Colonel was not above making capital of the interruption, and he smiled down on the shaggy visitor. “She's been deviling the life out of me not to part with that land. They say women have the intuition to look ahead better than men. I don't know but I ought to listen to her, but she ain't running me, and as I was about to say--” “Wait just one minute, papa!” insisted Dolly, with a grim look of determination on her face. “Just let me speak to you a moment in the parlor, and then you can come back to Mr. Milburn.” The face of the Colonel darkened under impatience, but he was afraid failure to grant his daughter's request would look like over-anxiety to close with Mil-burn, and so he followed her into the parlor across the hallway. “Now, what on earth is the matter with you?” he demanded, sternly. “I have never seen you conduct yourself like this before.” She faced him, touching his arms with her two hands. “Father, don't be angry with me,” she said, “but when you know what I do, you will be glad I stopped you just now. Mr. Milburn is not buying that land for his own use.” “He isn't?” exclaimed the Colonel. “No; he's secretly employed by a concern worth over two million dollars--the Southern Land and Timber Company of Atlanta.” “What?” the word came out as suddenly as if some one had struck him on the breast. “No,” answered the girl, now pale and agitated. “To save Mr. Bishop from loss, Alan and Rayburn Miller have worked up a scheme to build a railroad from Darley to the Bishop property. All arrangements have been made. There can be no hitch in it unless the citizens refuse to grant a right of way. In a week from now a meeting is to be advertised. Of course, it is not a certainty, but you can see that the chance is good, and you ought not to sacrifice your land.” “Good Heavens!” ejaculated Barclay, his eyes distended, “is this a fact?”