The grandfather caught up Shiloh first and kissed her. Then he sat down with the frail form in his arms and looked earnestly at her with his deep piercing eyes. "Where's the ole hoss," began his wife, her eyes beginning to snap. "You've traded him off an' I'll bet you got soaked, Hillard Watts--I can tell it by that pesky, sheepish look in yo' eyes. You never cu'd trade horses an' I've allers warned you not to trade the ole roan." "Wal, yes," said the Bishop. "I've traded him for this--" and his voice grew husky with emotion--"for this, Tabitha, an', Jack, jes' pour it out on the table there." It came out, yellow waves of gold. The light shone on them, and as the tired eyes of little Shiloh peeped curiously at them, each one seemed to throw to her a kiss of hope, golden tipped and resplendent. The old woman stood dazed, and gazing sillily. Then she took up one of the coins and bit it gingerly. "In God's name, Hillard Watts, what does all this mean? Why, it's genuwine gold." "It means," said the old man cheerily, "that Shiloh an' the chillun will never go into that mill ag'in--that old Ben Butler has give 'em back their childhood an' a chance to live. It means," he said triumphantly, "that Cap'n Tom's gwinter have the chance he's been entitled to all these years--an' that means that God'll begin to unravel the tangle that man in his meanness has wound up. It means, Tabitha, that you'll not have to wuck anymo' yo'self--no mo', as long as you live--" The old woman clutched at the bed-post: "Me?--not wuck anymo'? Not hunt 'sang an' spatterdock an' clean up an' wash an' scour an' cook an'--" "No, why not, Tabitha? We've got a plenty to--" He saw her clutch again at the bed-post and go down in a heap, saying:-- "Lemme die--now, if I can't wuck no mo'." They lifted her on the bed and bathed her face. It was ten minutes before she came around and said feebly: "I'm dyin', Hillard, it's kilt me to think I'll not have to wuck any mo'." "Oh, no, Tabitha, I wouldn't die fur that," he said soothingly. "It's terrible suddent like, I kno', an' hard fur you to stan', but try to bear it, honey, fur our sakes. It's hard to be stricken suddent like with riches, an' I've never seed a patient get over it, it is true. You'll be wantin' to change our cabin into an ole Colonial home, honey, an' have a carriage an' a pair of roached mules, an' a wantin' me to start a cotton factory an' jine a whis'-club, whilst you entertain the Cottontown Pettico't Club with high-noon teas, an' cut up a lot o' didoes that'll make the res' of the town laugh. But you mus' fight ag'in it, Tabitha, honey. We'll jes' try to live as we've allers lived an' not spend our money so as to have people talk about how we're throwin' it at the ducks. You can get up befo' day as usual an' hunt 'sang on the mountain side, and do all the other things you've l'arnt to do befo' breakfast."