"Ten-dollar bills!" she cried. "Oh, count ’em, Sam! I can’t. They stick together, she’s wadded 'em so tight." With almost painful deliberation Sam counted the money, licking his rough thumb as he raised each bill. "It’s a hundred dollars all right enough," he said, turning the roll over to his sister-in-law. "The only thing that’s worrying me is who’s had sech a sudden enlargement of the heart in this section." "Virginia, who gave you this money?" Mrs. Hemingway asked, her face abeam, her eyes gleaming with joy. "I told you I was bound by a promise not to tell you or anybody else," Virginia awkwardly replied, as she avoided their combined stare. "Oh, I smell a great big dead rat under the barn!" Sam laughed. "I’d bet my Sunday-go-to-meeting hat I know who sent it." "You do?" exclaimed the widow. "Who do you think it was, Sam?" "Why, the only chap around about here that seems to have wads of cash to throw at cats," Sam laughed. "He pitched one solid roll amounting to ten thousand at his starving family awhile back. Of course, he did this, too. He always _did_ have a hankering for Virginia, anyway. Hain’t I seen them two—" "He didn’t send it!" Virginia said, impulsively. "There! I didn’t intend to set you guessing, and after this I’ll never answer one way or the other. I didn’t know whether I ought to take it on those conditions or not, but I couldn’t see mother suffering when this would help her so much." "No, God knows I’m glad you took it," said Jane, slowly, "even if I’m never to know. I’m sure it was a friend, for nobody but a friend would care that much to help me out of trouble." "You bet it was a friend," said Sam, "unless it was some thief trying to get rid of some marked bills he’s hooked some’r’s. Now, Virginia, for the love of the Lord, get something ready to eat. For a family with a hundred dollars in hand, we are the nighest starvation of any I ever heard of." While the girl was busy preparing the cornmeal dough in a wooden bread-tray, her mother walked about excitedly. "I’ll go to Darley in the hack in the morning," she said, "and right on to Atlanta on the evening train. I feel better already. Dr. Evans says I won’t suffer a particle of pain, and will come back weighing more and with a better appetite." "Well, I believe I’d not put myself out to improve on mine," said Sam, "unless this person who is so flush with boodle wants to keep up the good work. Dern if I don’t believe I’ll grow _me_ a cancer, and talk about it till folks pay me to hush." XXVI