“Well, then, that ought to have helped along.” “You don't s'pose I took it, do you?” “Why--why not?” “Why not! Do you s'pose I'd use the money that belonged to the husband that run off and left me? I ain't that kind of a woman. The money and stocks are at the bank yet, I s'pose; anyhow they're there for all of me.” The lightkeeper's mouth opened and stayed open for seconds before he could use it as a talking machine. He could scarcely believe what he had heard. “But--but I wanted you to have it,” he gasped. “I left it for you.” “Well, I didn't take it; 'tain't likely!” with fiery indignation. “Did you think I could be bought off like a--a mean--oh, I don't know what?” “But--but I left it at the bank--for you. What--what'll I do with it?” “I don't know, I'm sure. You might give it to Sarah Ann Christy; I wouldn't wonder if she was less particular than I be.” Seth's guns were spiked, for the moment. He felt the blood rush to face, and his fists, as he brandished them in the air, trembled. “I--I--you--you--” he stammered. “I--I--you think I--” He knew that his companion would regard his agitation as an evidence of conscious guilt, and this knowledge did not help to calm him. He strode up and down the floor. “Look out,” said Mrs. Bascom, coldly, “you'll kick over the lantern.” Her husband stopped in his stride. “Darn the lantern!” he shouted. “S-sh-sh! you'll wake up the Brown man.” This warning was more effective. But Seth was still furious. “Emeline Bascom,” he snarled, shaking his forefinger in her face, “you've said over and over that I wa'n't a man. You have, haven't you?” She was looking at his shirt cuff, then but a few inches from her nose. “Who sewed on that button?” she asked. This was so unexpected that his wrath was, for the instant, displaced by astonishment. “What?” he asked. “What button?” “That one on your shirt sleeve. Who sewed it on?” “Why, I did, of course. What a crazy question that is!” She smiled. “I guessed you did,” she said. “Nobody but a man would sew a white button on a white shirt--or one that was white once--with black thread.” He looked at the button and then at her. His anger returned. “You said I wa'n't a man, didn't you?” he demanded. “Yes, I did. But I'll have to take part of it back. You're half a man anyhow; that sewin' proves it.” “Huh! I want to know. Well, maybe I ain't a man; maybe I'm only half a one. But I ain't a fool! I ain't a fool!” She sighed wearily. “Well, all right,” she admitted. “I sha'n't argue it.” “You needn't. I ain't--or anyhow I ain't an EVERLASTIN' fool. And nobody but the everlastin'est of all fools would chase Sarah Ann Christy. I didn't. That whole business was just one of your--your Bennie D.'s lies. You know that, too.” “I know some one lied; I heard 'em. They denied seein' Sarah Ann, and I saw 'em with her--with my own eyes I saw 'em. . . . But there, there,” she added; “this is enough of such talk. I'm goin' now.” “I didn't lie; I forgot.”