“I thought a moment, and said: ‘Deed it to me and give out that you have done so, but keep the deed yourself. The farm will be as much yours as it is mine, and when the trouble is over, if there is trouble, I will deed it back and no harm will be done.’ “I don’t think he was quick to grasp an idea, but I made him understand, and when he hesitated and asked if it wasn’t a fraud, I said: ‘If it is it is often practised, and may save your farm.’ “He went through the form, the deed was drawn but was never delivered to me, but kept in his family Bible, where it is now. As God is my witness, I meant fair and honest at first. His wife was dead. I never married. Both of us were alone, and at his request I came to live with him as at my own home and called it mine. Three months after the transaction he went West and was brought back dead,—killed on the railroad. Two months later I heard the note was paid, and then the devil entered into me. I liked the farm, and did not want to give it up, or tell of the fraudulent sale, as I would have to do. Eli’s only daughter had married and died, leaving a son, who had been sent through college and given a few thousand dollars, all Eli could spare. Where he was I didn’t know. Eli was not quite pleased with his daughter’s marriage, and after sending her boy to college, did not try to keep track of him. To make the story short, I did not tell that the place was not legally mine, and when people wondered what Eli had done with the price of the farm I knew no more than they did. There was a little from the sale of some of his effects, and a little in a bank. To this I added a thousand dollars, and sent it to the young man, Eli’s grandson, who, by inquiry, I found was studying for the ministry. Then I settled down to enjoy my farm, but never knew a moment’s real happiness. That deed haunted me and Eli haunted me, too, till I could endure it no longer. As I would not add another sin to my soul by selling the farm when I could not give a clear title, I abandoned it and went to Denver. I saved all I could and put it in banks, feeling that some time I should make restitution. Eli’s grandson was the Rev. Henry Sherman, who preached in Buford, Mass. I kept track of him after I found where he was. He is dead, but he has a widow and two daughters living. The farm is rightfully theirs, and the money too, the way I figure it. The ranch and Denver house are really mine. I bought them with means honestly my own. “I might write all this to Harry’s widow, but I’d rather tell you, my own kin. I have been to New York and seen Joel Pledger, whose wife was Eli’s half sister. I’ve known her since she was a child. She was here once. I asked about you and your family. Joel knows everybody, whether dead beats or honest men. He spoke well of your reputation: ‘Fashionable, but not fast,’ he said.