"After a bit we got down to business and straightened things out. A third interest in the Midas is to be set apart for Jeffard, to be rammed down his throat when we find him, whether he will or no. Uncle Steve will go back to Denver and set up housekeeping again; and Garvin,--but that's the funny part of the whole shooting-match. Garvin refuses to touch a dollar of the money as owner; insists on leaving it in trust, just as it is now; and made me sit down there and then and write his will." An outcoming car of ore drowned Myra's exclamation of surprise. "Fact," said Bartrow. "He reserves an income to be paid to him at Uncle Steve's discretion and mine, and at his death his third goes,--to whom, do you suppose?" "Indeed, I can't imagine,--unless it is to Connie." "Not much! It's to be held in trust for Margaret Gannon's children." "For Margaret,--why, she hasn't any children! And besides, he doesn't know her!" "Don't you fool yourself. He knows she hasn't any children, but he's living in hopes. I told you there was something between them from the way Garvin turned in and nursed the old blacksmith before Margaret came. You wouldn't believe it, because they both played the total-stranger act; but that was one time when I got ahead of you, wasn't it?" "Yes; go on." "Well, I made out the will, 'I, James Garvin, being of sound mind,' and so on; and Uncle Steve and I witnessed it. But on the way down to the bunk-shanty just now I pinned Garvin up against the wall and made him tell me why. He knew Margaret when she was in the Bijou, and asked her to marry him. She was honest enough even then to refuse him. It made me want to weep when I remembered how she had been mixed up with Jeffard." Myra was silent for a full minute, and when she spoke it was out of the depths of a contrite heart. "I made you believe that, Dick, against your will; and you were right, after all. Mr. Jeffard was only trying to help Connie's poor people through Margaret, though why he should do that when he was withholding a fortune from Uncle Stephen is still a mystery." "That is as simple as twice two," said the husband. "Didn't I tell you? Garvin had no occasion to tell him who his grub-staker was in the first place, and no chance to do it afterward. Jeffard didn't know,--doesn't know yet." Myra went silent again, this time for more than a minute. "I have learned something, too, Dick; but I am not sure that I ought to tell it," she said, after the interval. "I can wait," said Bartrow cheerfully. "I've had a full meal of double-back-action surprises as it is." "This isn't a surprise; or it wouldn't be if we hadn't been taking too much for granted. I tolled Connie off to her room with the letter, as I said I would; and she--she had a fit, as you prophesied." "Of course," says Dick. "It hurts her more than anything to make a miscue on the charitable side." "Yes, but"-- "But what?" "I'll tell you sometime, Dick, but not now. It is too pitiful."