"Papers that old Mr. Mullen"--She left her sentence unfinished, not wishing to risk displaying her ignorance of the real nature of the documents in question. Mixon regarded her sharply. "Do you know Frank Breck?" he asked. "Maybe, now, he might ha' mentioned this to you." "I know a great many people besides Frank Breck," she returned, smiling. "I didn't need to go to him for information." "It's mighty strange," Peter said in a deliberative way, "how many folks thinks I have papers they want. There's Breck; he's always at me. And Miss Mullen--she's sent for me a sight more times than I've been. And then Hannah Clemens, she thought I might have something would put her into her rights. Then there was Tabitha Mullen's lawyer"-- "Mr. Wentworth?" questioned Flora eagerly. "Yes, that's him. He mittened on to me the other day." "But I didn't know he had been here." "He only came down one train," said Peter; "an' he went back on the next. Miss Mullen sent after me to see him. And now you take it up, and want some valuable papers. I wish I could supply you all; but I can't." "But you can at least let me see"--Flora began. But Mixon interrupted. "I can't let you see what I hain't got, can I? Somebody must ha' lost an awful precious dociment to make all this stir.--Come, Trip." "Honestly," Miss Sturtevant said, in her fear that he would escape her, going so far as to lay her fingers upon his arm,--"honestly, haven't you those papers?" "Naturally I wouldn't want to speak too positively," he returned coolly, "not knowing what you want. But I guess it's safe enough to say no.--Come, Trip." "Wait," said Flora, retaining the hold she had taken upon Mixon's coat-sleeve. "I didn't mean to put you to trouble without paying you for it." "Well, that's business. How much, now, should you say was a fair sum, if I had the papers, and would let you see 'em?" "You might make your own terms," she said quickly, more and more convinced of the value of the mysterious papers. "You'd be the best judge of what it was worth." "Well, that's generous, almost too all-fired generous. I'm sorry I can't accommodate you; but I can't. Good-night, marm." And, followed by Trip, Mixon strode off down the rustic way, already dusky in the fast deepening twilight. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE THEATRICALS.