With her apron drawn close up under her shapely chin, her eyes still red and her cheeks damp, Virginia obeyed. If she had been watching her companion closely, she might have wondered over the strange expression of Ann’s face. Now and then, as she trudged along, kicking up the back part of her heavy linsey skirt in her sturdy strides, a shudder would pass over her and a weighty sigh of indecision escape her big chest. "To think this would come to me!" she muttered once. "_Me!_ God knows it looks like my work t’other night was far enough out of my regular track without—huh!" Reaching the gate, she told Virginia to wait a minute at the fence till she went into the house. She was gone several minutes, during which time the wondering girl heard her moving about within; then she appeared in the doorway, almost pale, a frown on her strong face. "Look here, child," she said, coming out and leaning her big, bare elbows on the top rail of the fence, "I’ve thought this all over and over till my head spins like a top, and I can see but one way for your mother to get out of her trouble. I’m the greatest believer you ever run across of every human being doing his or her _full_ duty in every case. Now, strange as it may sound, I left my home last night and deliberately made it my special business to step in between you and the only chance of getting the money your mother stands in need of. I thought I was doing what was right, and I still believe I was, as far as it went, but I was on the point of making a botched job of it. I’d get mighty few thanks, I reckon, for saving you from the clutches of that scamp if I left your mother to die in torment of body and soul. So, as I say, there ain’t but one way out of it." Ann paused; she was holding something tightly clasped in her hand, and not looking at Virginia. "I’m sure I don’t know what you mean," the girl said, wonderingly. "If you see any way out, it is more than I can." "Well, your mother’s got to go to Atlanta," Ann said, sheepishly; "and, as I see it, there isn’t but one person whose duty it is to put up the cash for it, _and that person is me_." "You? Oh no, Mrs. Boyd!" "But I know better, child. The duty has come on me like a load of bricks dumped from a wagon. The whole thing has driven me slap-dab in a corner. I know when I’m whipped—that’s one of the things that has helped me along in a moneyed way in this life—it was always knowing when to let up. I’ve got to wave the white flag in this battle till my enemy’s on her feet, then the war may go on. But"—Ann opened her hand and displayed the bills she was holding—"take this money home with you." "Oh, Mrs. Boyd, I couldn’t think of—" "Well, don’t think about it; take it on, and don’t argue with a woman older than you are, and who knows better when and how a thing has to be done."