“Don’t you feel bad, Miss Barb’ry,” the old man essayed to comfort her. “You meant it fer the best, I know you did, Miss Barb’ry. An’ mebbe it’ll turn out all right. I wouldn’t cross no bridges till I got to ’em, ef I was you. I s’pose,” he went on, his shrewd eyes on her face, “‘at you seen young Dave Whitcomb this mornin’—him ’at used to teach school in th’ village?” Barbara’s face whitened. “You don’t mean——” she faltered. “Dave was here t’ the auction,” pursued Mr. Morrison. “I heerd him put in two or three big bids on ye. He was ready to pass out his entire pile t’—save ye f’om bein’ took away; I’ll say that much fer Dave.” He turned, with his hand on the door. “I didn’t hev nothin’ when it come t’ biddin’,” he groaned. “I might ’a’ saved m’ breath t’ cool m’ porridge. But I’d ’a’ give the best fi’ years off’n m’ life t’ ’a’ kep’ ye right here at home, where ye b’long. I swan I would, Miss Barb’ry.” “I know you would, Peg,” Barbara said gently. Her eyes, the beautiful clear eyes of her father in his first unspoiled youth, were misty with tears, but she smiled bravely. “Five years isn’t long,” she reminded him. “It’ll soon be over. And you can raise five crops of those wonderful onions while I’m gone.” Stephen Jarvis was at home and alone in his library that afternoon when Barbara asked to see him. It might even have been inferred that he expected her; but if he did, he made no sign. His manner was cool and calm, quite in keeping with the business of the hour, as he took pains to explain to her a number of details connected with the accumulated interest upon interest, delinquent tax accounts, and other matters pertaining to the estate which Barbara, in her poverty, had been forced to ignore. “I can pay it all,” she said to him, the fruit of her triumph sweet upon her lips. “That is why I am here—to pay—everything I owe.” He looked at her quietly. “You are doubtless to be congratulated upon the success of your scheme,” he said. “I hear you realized quite a handsome sum on the sale of——” he hesitated for the fraction of a minute—“your future.” “It will be only five years,” Barbara said defiantly. “I shall be glad to work—hard, for Jimmy.” “When,” he asked, “do you expect to leave town?” “To-day, to-morrow—I cannot tell. I am ready to go now.” “To be gone five years,” he said thoughtfully. “Very well; we will finish this business at once. Let me advise you to attend to your taxes promptly hereafter; and if——” “Thank you,” interrupted Barbara haughtily. “I shall be able, I am sure, to meet all obligations in the future. The farm may be worthless, worn out, but it will pay for itself.” He did not appear to have heard her last words. He was busily arranging various papers. And presently he handed her the cancelled bond and mortgage, and the receipted tax bills, all neatly arranged. In return she counted out to him, with fingers which trembled in spite of herself, the crisp bills for which she had sold her youth.