“Why, you see,” Pole smiled, plausibly; “all I wanted was a clew to start from, an' after nosin' about whar Nelson's daddy had lived I at last discovered that he was part heir to that property o' yore'n, then, you see, the whole shootin'-match was as clear as a wart on the side of my own nose. The next discovery was the marriage record, an' then I had the whole thing in apple-pie order. You needn't set thar an' look scared out o' yore skin, Mr. Floyd. Nelson 'ud have his right arm sawed off at the shoulder-joint rather'n prosecute you. He told me last night that he'd stand by you. He's got money to burn, an' he'll never let his daddy's brother suffer. He told me jest this mornin'--'Pole,' said he, 'I don't believe Uncle Henry would 'a' kept this back so long ef he hadn't been mighty nigh out o' his head with his own troubles.” “God knows I wouldn't! God knows that!” sobbed the old man, impulsively. “I meant to tell him the truth the day I met you and told you he was my nephew, but I had a sick spell, and I got to worrying about the little all I had for my old age. I thought you were prying into matters, too, and knew that any question about the titles would make my creditors jump on me, and--” “I see, I see!” said Pole. Indifference was in his voice, but his rugged face was afire, his great, eager eyes were illumined by a blaze of triumph. “I reckon the proof you showed him was forgery, Mr. Floyd, but of a harmless kind that most any man in trouble naturally would--” “No, those letters were not forgeries,” broke in the old man. “They were really my brother's, but they related to his life with another woman. When their child died, she deserted him for another man. My brother came home broken-hearted, but he finally got over it, and married a nice girl of good family. She was Nelson's mother. In my great trouble, and facing ruin, it struck me that the letters would convince the boy and he would keep quiet and not put in a claim until--until I could see my way out--but now, you say he knows it all.” “Yes, an' is so happy over it, Mr. Floyd, that instead o' givin' you trouble, he'll throw his arms around you. God bless you, old hoss, you've been denyin' the finest member yore family ever had. I reckon you can turn over to him sufficient proof”--Pole drew himself up with a start--“proof, I mean, that will, you see, sort o' splice in with all I've run up on--proof that he is legally yore nephew.” “Oh, plenty!” the old man said, almost eagerly; “and I'll get it up at once. I've brought his check back,” he unfolded it and held it in his quivering hands. “I couldn't take money from him after treating him as I have.”