“Oh, ye don't know some men, Mr. Babcock. McGaw'll never stop fightin' while I live. Maybe I oughtn't tell ye,--I've niver told anybody,--but whin my Tom lay sick upstairs, McGaw come in one night, an' his own wife half dead with a blow he had given her, an' sat down in this very room,--it was our kitchen then,--an' he says,' If your man don't git well, ye'll be broke.' An' I says to him, 'Dan McGaw, if I live twelve months, Tom Grogan'll be a richer man than he is now.' I was a-sittin' right here when I said it, wid a rag carpet on this floor, an' hardly any furniture in the room. He said more things, an' tried to make love to me, and I let drive and threw him out of me kitchen. Then all me trouble wid him began; he's done everything to beat me since, and now maybe, after all, he'll down me. It all come up yisterday through McGaw meetin' Dr. Mason an' askin' him about me Tom; an' whin the doctor told him Tom was dead seven years, McGaw runs to Justice Rowan wid the story, an' now they say I can't sign a dead man's name. Judge Bowker has the papers, an' it's all to be settled to-morrow.” “But they can't take your contract away,” said Babcock indignantly, “no matter what Rowan says.” “Oh, it's not that--it's not that. That's not what hurts me. I can git another contract. That's not what breaks me heart. But if they take me Tom's NAME from me, an' say I can't be Tom Grogan any more; it's like robbin' me of my life. When I work on the docks I allus brace myself an' say' I'm doing just what Tom did many a day for me.' When I sign his name to me checks an' papers,--the name I've loved an' that I've worked for, the name I've kep' clean for him--me Tom that loved me, an' never lied or was mean--me Tom that I promised, an'--an'”-- All the woman in her overcame her now. Sinking to her knees, she threw her arms and head on the lounge, and burst into tears. Babcock rested his head on his hand, and looked on in silence. Here was something, it seemed to him, too sacred for him to touch even with his sympathy. “Tom,” he said, when she grew more quiet, his whole heart going out to her, “what do you want me to do?” “I don't know that ye can do anything,” she said in a quivering voice, lifting her head, her eyes still wet. “Perhaps nobody can. But I thought maybe ye'd go wid me to Judge Bowker in the mornin'. Rowan an' all of 'em 'll be there, an' I'm no match for these lawyers. Perhaps ye'd speak to the judge for me.” Babcock held out his hand. “I knew ye would, an' I thank ye,” she said, drying her eyes. “Now unlock the door, an' let 'em in. They worry so. Gran'pop hasn't slep' a night since I was hurted, an' Jennie goes round cryin' all the time, sayin' they 'll be a-killin' me next.” Then, rising to her feet, she called out in a cheery voice, as Babcock opened the door, “Come in, Jennie; come in Gran'pop. It's all over, child. Mr. Babcock's a-going wid me in the mornin'. Niver fear; we'll down 'em all yit.” XVII. A DANIEL COME TO JUDGMENT