While he talked Mrs. Bishop sat like a figure cut from stone, and Bishop leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his big face in his hands. It was as if a tornado of hope had blown over him, shaking him through and through. “You been doin' this to he'p me out,” he gasped, “an' I never so much as axed yore opinion one way or another.” “I'd rather see you make money out of that purchase than anything in the world,” said his son, with feeling. “People have made fun of you in your old age, but if we can build the road and you can get your hundred thousand dollars some of these folks will laugh on the other side of their faces.” Bishop was so full of excitement and emotion that he dared not trust his voice to utterance. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, pretending to be calm, though his alert wife saw that he was quivering in every limb. “Oh, Alan,” she cried, “don't you see how excited your pa is? You ought not to raise his hopes this way on such an uncertainty. As Mr. Miller said, there may be some slip and we'd be right back where we was, and feel wuss than ever.” Bishop rose from his chair and began to walk to and fro on the veranda. “It ain't possible,” they heard him saying. “I won't git out as easy as that--I jest cayn't!” “Perhaps it would be wrong to expect too much,” said Alan, “but I was obliged to tell you what we are going in town for to-morrow.” Bishop wheeled and paused before them. “Ef Wilson puts up the money I'd have enough to lift the mortgage an' a clean twenty thousand besides to put in some good investment.” Aunt Maria, the colored cook, came out and timidly announced that Alan's supper was on the table, but no one heard her. She crossed the veranda and touched the young man on the shoulder. “Supper's raidy, Marse Alan,” she said, “en it's gittin' col' ergin.” He rose and followed her into the dining-room and sat down in his accustomed place at the long table. When he had eaten he went back to the group on the veranda. “I think I 'll go up to bed,” he told them. “My ride and running around at Darley has made me very tired. Father, get all your papers together and let's take an early start in the morning.” But despite his feeling of weariness, Alan found he could not sleep. The bright moonlight, streaming in at his window, seemed a disturbing element. About eleven o'clock he heard some one turning the windlass at the well, and later the clatter of falling utensils in the kitchen, and the dead thump of a heavy tread below. He knew then that his father was up, and, like himself, unable to sleep. Presently Mrs. Bishop slipped into his room. “Are you awake, son?” She spoke in a whisper that she might not disturb him if he were asleep. He laughed. “I haven't closed my eyes; it seems to me I have gone over my conversation with Miller a thousand times.”