“Oh, Glory, dear, you mustn’t say that! Why, Luke is your best friend! He’s trying all the time to make things better and easier for you--for you and all the children, and all the hands--and he has such fine plans for a rest house and playroom and shorter hours--only, of course, that’s a secret, and you mustn’t tell any one, not even M’Liss’ or grand-pap.” “I won’t name hit to nawbuddy,” the child promised obediently. “But I am jes’ pintly skeered of Luke Manders.” “But you _mustn’t_ be,” Glen insisted warmly. “It’s just his way, Glory--he seems stern, but he isn’t, really. He works so hard, and he hasn’t time to stop and talk with you as I have, but he feels just the same as I do, Glory. You believe me, don’t you, honey?” “Yes, me’um.” She frowned over a broken thread and her lean fingers twisted it capably. “I b’lieve everything yo’all tell me. But I am jes’ pintly _skeered_ of Luke Manders.” Glen laughed and hugged her again. “But I tell you you _mustn’t_ be! I’ll bring the fairy tales to-morrow, Glory.” “Cross yo’ heart, hope-never-to-see-the-back-o’-yo’-neck?” “Cross my heart!” She sped away for her hat and coat and slipped quietly out at the side door, waiting for Luke in the lane. He came in five minutes, old Ben Birdsall trailing at his heels, the open letter still in his hand. She sensed instantly that Luke wanted to be rid of him; there was impatience in his stride which left the superintendent behind and annoyance in his sharp--“Ready, Glen? Come on!” But the old fellow persisted. “Wait a minute! Hold on there, Luke! Yo’ hold yo’ hosses, cain’t yo’? I want to tell Miss Glen!” The girl had started forward, obedient to Luke’s word, but she halted perforce when Ben caught up with her, thrusting his arm before her, the letter shaking in his shaking hand. “My ship’s come in, Miss Glen, just like I said! Oh, my Lawdy, Lawdy! Look a’ here!” He continued to wave the letter before her. “It’s my niece Irene, my sister Hattie’s gal! Say, I never suspicioned, when she married that lunger and pulled up stakes and traipsed out west with him--‘Uncle Ben,’ she says--right here in this letter--‘Uncle Ben, you stood by me when I hadn’t nobody but yo’ and now I’m a’ going to pay yo’ back,’ she says.” He began to cry, childishly, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. “But--I don’t understand, Ben! Has she sent you money?” In spite of Luke’s insistent hand at her elbow, she could not begrudge this moment. “Sent me money? Say, she’s sent _fo’_ me, that’s what she’s done--sent money right to the bank fo’ me to get me fixed up fine, and fo’ my ticket to Californy! ‘Uncle Ben,’ she says--” Luke Manders cut in crisply. “Oil. Her husband has----”