"No. I'd feel like a fish out of water in that big city. I'll be comfortable at the Sherwood's. I'll have to depend upon you to send me some money occasionally." "Hintzen writes me that he has your will locked up in his safe. I suppose you have given him a list of your property?" "He has written me asking for a list; but I'm not going to give him any." If the old man had not trusted Francis so implicitly he might have noticed an expression of relief light up that gentleman's dark eyes. "So I handle your funds, and Hintzen holds your will," smiled Francis. "Do you think that is fair to either of us?" "Oh, as for the will, I've kept a copy, which you may as well look at." And he fetched the document. Francis read it over very carefully; and then looked up with an expression of undisguised satisfaction. "I'm glad you put it that way," he said. "You leave it to us to act in accordance with our best judgment, whether it takes one year or twenty years. That leaves us free to dispose of securities to the best advantage, and not sacrifice them in a falling market." "Yes, I was thinking of that investment you advised me to make a year ago." Francis winced a little; for the old man probably knew how low a certain stock had fallen. "I see you've named my brother back in Pennsylvania as one of the executors." "Yes; as most of my heirs live in the East, I thought your brother could hunt them up, and let you do business through him." "That is a good idea. But don't you think Hintzen and Haggerty ought to have a list of your property? If you should die, and they found on examining your books and papers that you had trusted me but not them, why, naturally, they would feel hurt." "Well, Haggerty's an Irishman, and Hintzen's a Dutchman. You are an American like myself, and, what's more, a Democrat after my own heart. I want you to hold the funds." "If you feel that way, I wish you wouldn't tell anybody. For if they knew I had money belonging to you people would suspect me of helping myself to it." Francis had been rehearsing this speech for several days; but was now rather surprised that he had the nerve to utter it. But the old man trusted him. Was not Francis almost a son to him? If he had been, he could not have inherited the old man's property more surely. He stayed over night on Fillmore Hill; and when he departed next morning, he took with him bank books and securities and a letter to Palmer's banker which made Francis the custodian of all his money. He even took a small chamois skin bag filled with gold nuggets which the old man had saved. And he left behind at the house on Fillmore Hill not a receipt or a paper of any kind that would indicate that Palmer ever had had any money. They had burned all such tell-tale records; and Henry Francis felt that he was guilty of something baser than highway robbery. Yet, if the stock market should take an upward turn, all might be well. CHAPTER XV Three Graves by the Middle Yuba