Sibyl, turning her rings on her shapely fingers, was anxious that he should reach the real point, but she withheld any manifestation of impatience. In the school of experience she had learned to wait. Justin was also anxious, and he had not learned so well how to conceal it. But Sanders went on unheeding, stopping now and then to masticate a fact before proceeding further. “When I come back, intendin’ to tell you all I knowed, which I’d begun to feel was due ye, I got into that quarrel with Davison about the fence before I could; and then you and me had that trouble. After that I wouldn’t tell; and I wouldn’t tell it now but fer certain things. But I reckon you’d ought to know. I dunno whether you’ll be pleased er not when you do know; but I’m calculatin’ that Davison won’t be pleased, and that suits me. I don’t make any bones of sayin’ that I don’t like Davison; but Davison is your paw!” After all this slow preliminary, the revelation came like a shot from a rifle. Not realizing this, Sanders twisted round in his chair and began to draw from his hip pocket a grimy memorandum book of ancient appearance. Justin was too astonished to speak. He could hardly believe that he had heard aright, and he was prepared to dispute the assertion, for it seemed incredible. [Illustration: “Sanders twisted round in his chair and began to draw from his pocket a grimy memorandum book”] “Do you mean that Mr. Davison is my father?” he cried. “That’s jist what I mean!” Sanders chewed again, and putting the memorandum book on his knee opened it carefully. Sibyl Dudley, though she had seen the book before, came forward softly from her chair to look. Her dark eyes had kindled. Justin stared at Sanders and the book. The shock of astonishment was still on him. He did not know what to think or say. Sanders appeared the least concerned of all. “That’s jist what I mean, and hyer’s the little book in which your mother writ down the things I know about it; you can see it yerself, and you needn’t believe me. You was brought to that preacher, Mr. Wingate, by me, and left there. I took you and your mother into my wagon. She was too sick to walk even, and she died in it; and then, not knowin’ what to do with you, fer you was jist a baby, and I was only a kid myself, I took you to the preacher. I had left this mem’randum book behind, through a mistake; but I give him the Bible, and some other things, and calc’lated to bring this to him. But I didn’t right away, and then I lost track of him.” Justin was trembling now. Though still unable to grasp the full meaning of this revelation, he saw that Sanders was recounting things he knew. There was no deception. He took the book in his shaking hands, when Sanders passed it to him. It was grimy and disreputable in appearance, but if Sander’s story were true it had been hallowed by his mother’s touch.