Her voice broke again, but she had said all she came to say, and, covering her face with her hands, the tears trickled through her fingers and dropped into her lap. For a moment there was perfect silence, and more than one wiped his eyes at sight of this young girl, pleading for her father, and promising to pay a debt which would stagger many a strong man, and which they felt sure she could never do. But that did not matter. They were, most of them, men with kind hearts, and Louie had done more for her father than Herbert could ever have done. It was a little awkward, not knowing who should speak first, or what he should say, or how his companions were feeling. The neighbor of the Greys finally took the initiative. He had hesitated about coming, for he knew Mr. Grey was ill, he said. The doctor had told him so. All broke up, he understood, which proved he was not a hardened wretch. Nothing could bring back the money, and why not let him alone? His own thoughts would be punishment enough, and he did not believe in kicking a fellow when he was down. Better give him a chance to get up again. Louie’s eyes were very bright as she smiled upon him and turned to the others for their decision. “Yes, let him go,” every one said, except Godfrey Sheldon, who was silent. His two thousand dollars weighed heavily upon him, and Louie’s refusal to turn the horses and carriage toward his debt weighed heavier. He wanted those bays—the finest in town—and he wanted the carriage and his daughters wanted it, and at last he said: “Girl, what’ll you take for them horses and kerridge, anyway? I don’t mean a turnin’ but a square sale. You’d as lief sell ’em to me as anybody, I s’pose. I’m good to my dum critters, I be.” Louie looked bewildered a moment, and then replied: “I don’t know. Mr. Blake will see to that. We shall sell them to someone”; then to the men: “It is settled, then, that you will not trouble father. I thank you so much, and I promise again that you shall be paid if I live.” It was a great deal to promise, and not one of her hearers believed she could do it, but she did, and looked very brave and hopeful as she put on her cloak and started to leave. The neighbor, Mr. Clark, asked her to wait and he would go with her. But she said: “No, thanks; I came alone, and can go alone. I would rather. Father is wanting me by this time.” She pulled her hood over her head and left the room, hearing, as she closed the door, Mr. Sheldon’s saying: “Don’t promise them horses to anybody till you hear from me.” Herbert was still sitting on the dry-goods box in the dark recess when she came out, and he knew by her face that she had been successful. “Louie,” he said, coming forward with a suddenness which made her start. “Louie, I am here.”