"If I were you I would n't pack up anything but what I could put in a trunk. Sell off these things for what you can get and start fresh. I'll send you enough to furnish the house." "I ought to do that much myself," she objected feebly. "No, I want to do this thing right up chuck. As soon as I reach the hotel I will telephone the Deacon. If I can't buy that house, I 'll get another, and in either case, I will drop you a note to-night. I 'll arrange to have the deed left with some one up there, and I 'll also deposit in the local bank enough for the other things. So all you 've to do is to get ready and start on Tuesday. Do you understand?" "Yes! Yes!" she gasped. "But it doesn't sound true--it sounds like a dream." "Are you going to have faith enough to act on it?" "Oh, I did n't mean that I doubted! I trust you, Peter Donaldson." He reached in his pocket and took out five ten-dollar bills. "This is for your fare and to settle up any little accounts you may have." She took the money with trembling fingers while Bobby and Sis crowded around to gape at it. "There," exclaimed Donaldson in relief. "Now you 're all fixed up, and on Monday morning Bobby can throw up his job. He can fire the company." "Gee!" he gasped. And almost before any of them could catch their breath he had kissed the baby, gripped Mrs. Wentworth's hand a second, and with a "S'long" to the others disappeared as though, Sis declared, a magician had waved his wand over him. It was after nine before he finally reached the Waldorf. No message was waiting for him from either the girl or Saul. He hunted up the telephone operator at once. "Call up Berringdon, Vermont, for me, please." "With whom do you wish to talk?" "With Deacon Staples." He smiled as he saw the hands of the clock pointing to nine-thirty. It was long after the Deacon's bedtime. CHAPTER XIII _The Sleepers_ It was twenty minutes of ten before a sleepy and decidedly irritable voice responded in answer to Donaldson's cheery hello. There was little of Christian spirit to be detected in it. "Is this Deacon Staples?" "Yes. But I 'd like t' know what ye mean by gettin' a man outern bed at this time of night?" "Why, you were n't in bed, Deacon!" "In bed? See here, is this some confounded joke?" "What kind of a joke, Deacon?" "A--joke. Who are you, anyway?" "I don't believe you remember me; I 'm Peter Donaldson." "Don't recoleck your name. What d' ye want this time o' night?" "Why, it's early yet, Deacon. You weren't really in bed!" "I tell ye I was, an' that so is all decent folk. Once 'n fer all--what d'ye want?" "I heard you had a house to sell." "Wall, I ain't sellin' houses on th' Lord's day." "Won't be Sunday for two hours and twenty minutes yet, Deacon. If you talk lively, you can do a day's work before then. What will you take for the old Burnham place?"