Leigh gave a start and stared at her questioner, but her woman's instinct told her that only kindly purpose lay back of his question. He had sat down on the edge of the porch and Leigh stood leaning against the trellis, clutching the narrow slats, as she looked at him. "I think he is dead," she answered slowly. "Uncle Jim says he must be. He was a bad man, made bad not by blood but by selfishness. The Shirleys are a fine family." "Excuse me for sayin' it, Miss, but you took every good trait of that family, an' Nature jest shied every bad trait as far from you as it took the sins of our old savage Anglo-Saxon ancestors off of our heads; them that used to kill an' eat their neighborin' tribes, like the Filipinos, they was. Don't never forget that you're a Shirley an' not a Tank. Your grandma's name was Tank, I've been told." Leigh made no response, but something in her face and in the poise of her figure bespoke the truth of Darley Champers' words. "I jest come down to tell you," he continued, "that the man I represented when I sold you this quarter, he represented your father, Tank Shirley, and Tank got it through this man away from Jim out of pure hate. I sold it back to you out of pure spite to Tank's agent, who was naggin' me. If your father is dead, there'd ought to be somethin' comin' back, as the money you paid for the land would help you some if we could get it back. I come as a friend. I'm kinder in Doc Carey's shoes while he's gone, you see. You've got the land as good as paid for. It will be clear, you say, by June. Buyin' it of your own father, if there's any estate left of him, you'd ought to have it. Money's always a handy commodity, an' I'd like to see you git what's your'n after your plucky bluff and winnin'. You could use it, I reckon?" "We need it very much," Leigh assured him. "Say, would you mind tellin' me if you find out anything about your father's whereabouts or anything?" Champers queried. "Yes, I will," Leigh replied, "but will you tell me what you know about him; you must know something?" It was Champers' turn to start now. "N-not much; not as much as I'm goin' to know, and it's not for my profit, neither. I don't make money out of women's needs. I never made a cent on this sale to you, but it was worth it to get to do that agent once," Champers declared. Leigh waited quietly. "I'll be in better shape inside of two days to tell you something definite. I wish Carey was here. Do you know where he got the money he loaned you?" "I never asked him," Leigh answered. "He borrowed it of Miss Jane Aydelot of Cloverdale, Ohio." Champers did not mean to be brutal, but the sharp cry of pain and the look of anguish on Leigh Shirley's face told how grievous was the wound his words had made.