Later on--at Moorlands of course--the colonel, whose eyes were getting better by the day and Gorsuch whose face was now one round continuous smile, got to work, and had a heart-to-heart--or rather a pocket-to-pocket talk--which was quite different in those days from what it would be now--after which both Kate and Harry threw to the winds all thoughts of Rio and the country contiguous thereto, and determined instead to settle down at Moorlands. And then a great big iron door sunk in a brick vault was swung wide and certain leather-bound books were brought out--and particularly a sum of money which Harry duly handed over to Pawson the next time he drove to town--(twice a week now)--and which, when recounted, balanced to a cent the total of the bills which Pawson had paid three years before, with interest added, a list of which the attorney still kept in his private drawer with certain other valuable papers tied with red tape, marked “St. G. W. T.” And still later on--within a week--there had come the news of the final settlement of the long-disputed lawsuit with St. George as principal residuary legatee--and so our long-suffering hero was once more placed upon his financial legs: the only way he could have been placed upon them or would have been placed upon them--a fact very well known to every one who had tried to help him, his philosophy being that one dollar borrowed is two dollars owed--the difference being a man's self-respect. And it is truly marvellous what this change in his fortunes accomplished. His slack body rounded out; his sunken cheeks plumped up until every crease and crack were gone, his color regained its freshness, his eyes their brilliancy; his legs took on their old-time spring and lightness--and a wonderful pair of stand-bys, or stand-ups, or stand-arounds they were as legs go--that is legs of a man of fifty-five.