She offered him no explanation for the wineglasses or for the conversation that he had overheard. He did not hear a sound of any other life in the house than their own. The doors were open, and he could see into the bedroom on one side and into the kitchen on the other. She had lighted another lamp, enabling him to distinguish every object in the kitchen. There was not a carpet in the house, and it seemed impossible that any one could be concealed so quickly without making a sound. Amos shook his head solemnly. “Poor lady!” said he. But she, now her mysterious fright was passed, had rallied her spirits. Of her own motion she introduced the subject of his errand. “You spoke of a debtor; what’s the man’s name?” Amos gave her the truth of the tale, and with some humor described the twins. “Well, I reckon he has more than paid it,” she said at the end. “What do you want? Were you going to lend him the money?” “Well, only the interest money; he’s a good fellow, and he has nine children.” “Who have to be paid for in advance?” She actually tittered a feeble, surprised little laugh, as she rose up and stepped (on her toes, in the prim manner once taught young gentlewomen) across the room to the desk. She came back with a red-lined paper in her meagre, blue-veined hand. She handed the paper to Amos. “That is a present to you.” “Not the whole note?” “Yes, sir. Because you asked me. You tell Foley that. And if he’s got a dog or a cat or a horse, you tell him to be good to it.” This had been a year ago; and Amos was sure that Foley’s gratitude would take the form of a clamor for revenge. Mrs. Foley dated their present prosperity entirely from that day; she had superadded a personal attachment to an impersonal gratitude; she sold Miss Clark eggs, and little Mamie had the reversion of the usurer’s shoes. Amos sighed. “Well, I can’t blame ’em,” he muttered. From that day had dated his own closer acquaintance. He now occasionally paid a visit at the old gentlewoman’s home. Once she asked him to tea. And Raker went about for days in a broad grin at the image of Amos, who, indeed, made a very careful toilet with his new blue sack-coat, white duck trousers, and tan-colored shoes. He told Raker that he had had a delightful supper. Mrs. O’Shea, the char-woman, was without at the kitchen stove, and little Mamie Foley brought in the hot waffles and jam. Esquire Clark showed his gifts by vaulting over the grape-arbor, trying to enter through the wire screen, bent on joining the company, and the Colonel wept audibly outside, until Amos begged for their admission. Safely on their respective seats, their behavior, in general, was beyond criticism. Only once the Colonel, feeling that the frying chicken was unconscionably long in coming his way, gave a low howl of irrepressible feeling; and Esquire Clark (no doubt from sympathy) leaped after Mamie and the dish.