It was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to the boy. He was saving his father from some mistake. The greatest lawyer in the world was taking Keith’s advice. He groaned with delight and hugged his father’s arm, murmuring: “We’re like pardners——” “Partners we are.” “I’m a big man now at last. Couldn’t you let me know ever’thing, so’s I could help you when you needed me?” His father gazed at him devotedly and kissed him. He did not like that kissing business. Big men did not indulge in such girls’ play. Still he remembered the story of Nelson’s death in the sea battle and how the fearless admiral’s last words were a plea to another officer to kiss him. But in spite of this burst of affection his father would not explain the Lasher mystery; he said the boy was too young to know. Yet he was not too young to tell enough to let other grown-up people know. RoBards, haggard with loss of sleep and the storms he had barely weathered, was frantic to prevent the children from publishing the devastating news. Curiosity would work in them like a yeast and the instinct to ask questions could only be overcome by some overwhelming injunction. He led Keith to the library and fetched out the vast family Bible, and set the boy’s little hand on it and said: “Swear that you will never mention Jud Lasher’s name to anybody, or breathe a word of what he did or what I did to him. Do you swear?” “Yes, papa, I swear, and I p’omise——” “Do you know what happens to people who break their oaths?” “Oh, yessir, they burn in hell-fire forever and ever, amen.” His father paid the boy a noble homage when he made the appeal to his chivalry above his fear: “Worse than that, it would mean that if you told, your little sister would be shamed before everybody as long as she lived. Everybody would think of her as if she were worse than wicked; nobody would ever marry her. She would be afraid to be seen anywhere. She would cry all the time and never smile.” “That would be worse’n me burning in hell. Oh, yessir, I won’t tell, sir.” “This promise won’t wear out in a few days or months, will it? This house will be yours when I am gone. It must never be sold; never be torn down till I am dead and gone. After Immy dies it won’t matter so much. Does your poor little brain understand all this?” His accurate soul answered: “I don’t understand it, no sir; but you do, and what you want is enough for me. I wish you would trust me.” “I do. And one last word: don’t tell Immy what I’ve told you. Don’t let her talk about it. And always remember that the least word you let slip might mean that the policemen would come and take me away and hang me before all the people.” The boy screamed at that and was hardly soothed back to calm. [Illustration: “SWEAR THAT YOU WILL NEVER MENTION JUD LASHER’S NAME TO ANYBODY”] CHAPTER XXII