Rose O'Paradise

by Grace Miller White

  ROSE O' PARADISE

  CHAPTER I

  FATHER AND DAUGHTER

  On a hill, reared back from a northern lake, stood a weather-beatenfarmhouse, creaking in a heavy winter blizzard. It was anold-fashioned, many-pillared structure. The earmarks of hard wintersand the fierce suns of summer were upon it. From the main road it wasscarcely discernible, settled, as it was, behind a row of pine trees,which in the night wind beat and tossed mournfully.

  In the front room, which faced the porch, sat a man,--a tall, thinman, with straight, long jaws, and heavy overhanging brows. With moodyeyes he was staring into the grate fire, a fearful expression upon hisface.

  He straightened his shoulders, got up, and paced the floor back andforth, stopping now and then to listen expectantly. Then again heseated himself to wait. Several times, passionately insistent, heshook his head, and it was as if the refusal were being made to aninvisible presence. Suddenly he lifted his face as the sound of aweird, wild wail was borne to him, mingling with the elf-like moaningof the wind. He leaned forward slightly, listening intently. Fromsomewhere above him pleading notes from a violin were making the nighteven more mournful. A change came over the thin face.

  "My God!" he exclaimed aloud. "Who's playing like that?"

  He crossed the room and jerked the bell-rope roughly. In a few momentsthe head of a middle-aged colored woman appeared at the door.

  "Did you tell my daughter I wanted to see her?" questioned the man.

  "No, sah, I didn't. When you got here she wasn't in. Then she slid tothe garret afore I saw 'er. Now she's got to finish her fiddlin' aforeI tell 'er you're here. I never bother Miss Jinnie when she'sfiddlin', sah." The old woman bowed obsequiously, as if pleadingpardon.

  The man made a threatening gesture.

  "Go immediately and send her to me," said he.

  For perhaps twenty minutes he sat there, his ears straining to catch,through the whistling wind, the sounds of that wild, unearthlytune,--a tune different from any he had ever heard. Then at length itstopped, and he sank back into his chair.

  He turned expectantly toward the door. Footsteps, bounding with life,with strength, were bearing down upon him. Suddenly a girl's face,--arosy, lovely face,--with rapturous eyes, was turned up to his. At thesight of her stern father, the girl stopped, bringing her feettogether at the heels, and bowed. Then they two,--Thomas Singleton thesecond and Virginia, his daughter,--looked at each other squarely.

  "Ah, come in!" said the man. "I want to talk with you. I believeyou're called Virginia."

  "Yes, sir; Jinnie, for short, sir," answered the girl, with a slightinclination of her head.

  Awkwardly, and with almost an embarrassed manner, she walked in frontof the grate to the chair pointed out to her. The man glanced sharplyat the strongly-knit young figure, vibrant with that vital thingcalled "life." He sighed and dropped back limply. There followed alengthy silence, until at last Thomas Singleton shifted his feet andspoke slowly, with a grim setting of his teeth.

  "I have much to say to you. Sit back farther in your chair and don'tstare at me so."

  His tones were fretful, like those of a man sick of living, yet tryingto live. He dropped his chin into the palm of his hand and lapsed intoa meditative gloom.

  Virginia leaned back, but only in this did she obey, for her eyes werestill centered on the man in silent attention. She had little awe ofhim within her buoyant young soul, but much curiosity lay under thelevel, penetrating glance she bent upon her father. Here was a manwho, according to all the human laws of which Virginia had ever heard,belonged to her, and to her alone. There were no other children and nomother. Yet so little did she know of him that she wouldn't haverecognized him had she met him in the road. Singleton's uneasy glance,seeking the yellow, licking flames in the grate, crossed hers.

  "I told you not to stare at me so, child!" he repeated.

  This time the violet eyes wavered just for an instant, then fastenedtheir gaze once more upon the speaker.

  "I don't remember how you look," she stammered, "and I'd like to know.I can't tell if I don't look, can I?"

  Her grave words, and possibly the steady, piercing gaze, brought atwitch to the father's lips. Surely his child had spoken the truth. Hehimself had almost forgotten he had a girl; that she was the onlyliving creature who had a call upon the slender thread of his life.Had he lived differently, the girl in front of him would have beenwatching him for some other reason than curiosity.

  "That's why I'm looking at you, sir," she explained. "If any one onthe hills'd say, 'How's your father looking, Jinnie?' if I hadn'tlooked at you sharp, sir, how'd I know?"

  She sighed as her eyes roved the length of the man once more. Theashes in the grate were no grayer than his face.

  "You're awful thin and white," she observed.

  "I'm sick," replied Singleton in excuse.

  "Oh, I'm sorry!" answered Virginia.

  "You're quite grown up now," remarked the man presently, with ameditative air.

  "Oh, yes, sir!" she agreed. "I'm a woman now. I'm fifteen years old."

  "I see! Well, well, you _are_ quite grown up! I heard you playing justnow. Where did you ever learn such music?"

  Jinnie placed her hand on her heart. "I got it out of here, sir," shereplied simply.

  Involuntarily Singleton straightened his rounded shoulders, and asmile touched the corners of his mouth. Even his own desperatecondition for the moment was erased from his mind in the pride he feltin his daughter. Then over him swept a great regret. He had missedmore than he had gained in his travels abroad, in not living with andfor the little creature before him.

  Her eyes were filled with contemplation; then the lovely face, in itsexquisite purity, saddened for a moment.

  "Matty isn't going to take me across her knee never any more," shevouchsafed, a smile breaking like a ray of sunshine.

  The blouse slipped away from her slender throat, and she made apicture, vivid and beautiful. The fatherhood within Thomas Singletonbounded in appreciation as he contemplated his daughter for a shortspace, measuring accurately the worth within her. He caught thewonderful appeal in the violet eyes, and wished to live. God, how hewanted to live! He would! He would! It meant gathering his supremeststrength, to be put forth in efforts of mere existing. Something outof an unknown somewhere, brought to him through the stormy, wonderfulmusic he had heard, made the longing to live so vehement that it hurt.Then the horror of Virginia's words drifted through his torturedbrain.

  "What?" he ejaculated.

  "Now I'm fifteen," explained the girl, "I get a woman's beating with astrap, you see. A while ago I got one that near killed me, but I nevercried a tear. Matty was almost scared to death; she thought I wasdead. Matty can lick hard, Matty can."

  Virginia sighed in recollection.

  "You don't mean to say the nigger whipped you?"

  The girl shook her curly head.

  "Whipped me! No! Matty don't whip; she just licks with all hermuscle.... Matty's muscle's as strong as a tree limb."

  Mr. Singleton bowed his head. It had never occurred to him in allthose absent years that the child was being abused. How simply she hadtold her tale of suffering!

  "But I'm fifteen now," she repeated gladly, "so I stand up, spread myfeet like this"--she rose and suited the action to the words--"andMatty lays her on damn hard, too."

  He covered his mouth with one thin hand, choked down a cough, andendeavored to change the subject.

  "And school? Have you been to school?"

  "Oh, yes!" assured the girl, sitting down again. "I went to schoolback in the hills. There were only five boys and me. There wasn't anygirls. I wish there had been."

  "You like girls, I imagine, then," said her father.

  "Oh, yes, sir! Yes, indeed, sir! I often walk five miles to play awhile with one. None of the mothers around Mottville Corners'll lettheir girls be with me. You see, this house has a bad name."

  A deep crimson dyed the man's ashen skin. He made as if to spe
ak, butJinnie went on.

  "Over in the Willow Creek settlement the kids are awful bad, but I getalong with 'em fine, because I love 'em right out of being hellish."

  She was gazing straight into her father's face in all sincerity, withno trace of embarrassment.

  "You know Mrs. Barker, the housekeeper you left me with?" she demandeda little later. "Well, she died when I was ten. Matty stayed, thinkingevery day you'd come home. I suppose mebbe I did grow up sort ofcussed, and I suppose everybody thinks I'm bad because I've only anigger to live with, and no mother, not--not even _you_."

  Singleton partly smothered an oath which lengthened itself into agroan, looked long at the slim young figure, then at the piquantface.

  "Just lately I've been wanting some one of my own to love," shepursued. "I only had Milly and her cats. Then the letter come sayingyou'd be here--and I'm very glad."

  The smile lighting her face and playing with the dimples in her cheeksmade Thomas Singleton feel as if Heaven's breath had touched him.

  "Do you care at all for me?" he asked gloomily.

  There had come over him a desire that this winsome girl,--winsome inspite of her crudity,--would say she did. Wonder, love, sympathy, werealive in her eyes. Jinnie nodded her head.

  "Oh, yes, sir!" she murmured. "Of course I love you! I couldn't tellyou how much.... I love--why, I even love Mose. Mose's Matty's man.He stole and et up all our chickens--but I love him just the same. Ifelt sorry about his killing the hens, because I loved them too."

  "I see," sighed the father.

  "Now there's Molly--I call her Molly the Merry----"

  "Who's Molly the Merry?" interrupted Singleton.

  "Old Merriweather's daughter. She's prettier than the summer roses,and they're pretty, believe me. Her smiles're warmer'n the sun."

  "Ah, yes! I remember the Merriweathers. Is the old man still alive?"

  "Well, yes, but he's as good as dead, though. Ain't walked in threeyears. And Matty's man, Mose, told Matty, and Matty told me, he'smeaner'n forty damn devils."

  "So you swear, too?" asked the father, breathing deeply.

  Virginia opened wide and wider two sparkling blue eyes.

  "Swear, sir?" she protested. "I didn't swear."

  "Pardon me," replied Singleton, laconically. "I thought I heard yousay 'damn' several times."

  Virginia's smile showed two rows of white teeth.

  "Oh, so you did!" she laughed, rising. "But 'damn' isn't swearing. Youought to hear me really swear sometimes. Shall I show you how I--I canswear?"

  Singleton shook his head.

  "I'd rather you wouldn't!... Sit down again, please."

  The man at intervals turned a pair of burning bright eyes upon her.They weren't unlike her own eyes, only their expression puzzledVirginia.

  She could not understand the rapid changes in her father. He wasn'tthe man she had mentally known all these years. But then, all she hadhad by which to visualize him was an old torn picture, turned face tothe wall in the garret. He didn't look at all like the painting--hewas thinner, older, and instead of the tender expression on thehandsome, boyish face, time had placed one of bitterness, anxiety, anddread. He sat, crouched forward, stirring the grate fire, seeminglylost in thought. Virginia remained quiet until he was ready to speak.

  "I'm going to die soon,--very soon."

  It was only natural that Virginia should show how his statementshocked her. She grew deathly white, and an expression of misery knitthe lovely young face.

  "How soon?" she shivered, drawing back.

  "Perhaps to-night--perhaps not for weeks, but I must tell yousomething before then."

  "All right," agreed Virginia, "all right.... I'm here."

  "I haven't been a good father to you," the man began after a pause,"and I'm not sure I could do better if I should stay on here with you.So I might as well go now as any time! Your mother would've donedifferently if she'd lived. You look some like her."

  "I'm sorry I don't remember her," remarked Virginia apologetically.

  "She went away when you were too little even to know her. Then I leftyou, too, though I don't suppose any one but her could have made youhappy."

  "Oh, I've been happy!" Jinnie asserted. "Old Aunt Matty and thecats're all I need around, and I always have my fiddle. I found it inthe garret."

  It was easy to believe that she was telling the truth, for to allappearances she looked happy and healthy. However, Mr. Singleton'seyes darkened and saddened under the words. Nothing, perhaps, had evertouched him so deeply.

  "It's no life for a girl of fifteen years to live with cats andniggers," he muttered.

  One less firmly faithful to conscience would have acquiesced in thistruthful statement; not so Virginia.

  "Matty's a good nigger!" she insisted, passionately. "She'd doanything she could for me!"

  Seemingly the man was not impressed by this, for his strong jaws wereset and unyielding upon the unlighted cigar clenched between histeeth.

  "I might as well tell you to-night as to-morrow," he concluded,dropping the cigar on the table. "Your mother left you her money andproperty when she died."

  "I know it, sir, and it's a lot, too! Matty told me about it one nightalong with 'er ghost stories, sir.... Ever heard Matty's ghoststories, sir?"

  "No, but I didn't bring you here to talk about Matty. And tell me,what makes you say 'sir' to me all the time?"

  His impatient tone, his sharp, rasping voice, didn't change Virginia'srespectful attitude. She only bent her head a trifle and replied:

  "Anybody must always say 'sir' to another body when she's kind of halfafraid of him, sir."

  She was composed for a moment, then went on:

  "It isn't every day your father comes home, sir, and I've waited along, long time. I'd be a hell of a kid if I couldn't muster up a'sir' for you."

  Singleton glanced sidewise at his young daughter, bending his browstogether in a frown.

  "You're a queer sort of a girl, but I suppose it's to be expected whenyou've only lived with niggers.... Now will you remember something ifI tell it to you?"

  "Yes, sir," breathed Virginia, drawing back a little from his strongemotion.

  "Well, this! Don't ever say 'sir' to any human being living! Don'tever! Do you understand me? What I mean is, when you say 'sir,' it'sas if you were--as if you were a servant or afraid--you make yourselfmenial. Can you remember, child?"

  "Yes, sir,--yes, I'll remember.... I _think_ I'll remember."

  "If you're going to accomplish anything in the world, don't be afraidof any one."

  A dozen explanations, like so many birds, fluttered through Virginia'smind. Before her rose her world of yesterday, and a sudden apologyleapt to her lips. She turned on her father a wondering, soberglance.

  "I've never said 'sir' or 'ma'am' before in all my life--never!" sheremarked.

  "So you're afraid of me?"

  "A little," she sighed.

  "Ah, don't be, child! I'm your father. Will you keep that in mind?"

  "I'll try to; I will, sure."

  Mr. Singleton shifted uneasily, as if in pain.

  "This money is coming to you when you're eighteen years old,"explained Mr. Singleton. "My dying will throw you into an ocean ofdifficulties. I guess the only service I've ever done you has been tokeep your Uncle Jordan from you."

  "Matty told me about him, too," she offered. "He's a damn bad duffer,isn't he, mister?"

  "Yes, and I'm going to ask you not to call me 'mister,' either. Lookhere!... I'm your father! Can't anything get that into your head?"

  "I keep forgetting it," answered the girl sadly. "And you're so bigand thin and different from any man I know. You look as weak as a--asa cat."

  She stretched forth her two strong legs, but sank back.

  "Yes, your Uncle Jordan is bad," proceeded Singleton, presently, "badenough to want to get us both out of the way, and he wouldn't findmuch of an obstacle in you."

  A clammy chill clutched at Virginia's heart like tightening
fingers.The import of his words burned deep within her. She got to herfeet--but reseated herself at once at a wave of her father's hand. Thethought of death always had a sobering effect upon her--it filled herwith longing, yet dread. The beautiful young mother, whose picturehung in the best room, and whose eyes followed her in every direction,was dead. Matty had told her many times just how her mother had gone,and how often the gentle spirit had returned to hover over the belovedyoung daughter. Now the memory of it was enhanced by the roar of thewind and the dismal moaning of the tall pines. Virginia firmlybelieved that her mother, among other unearthly visitants, walked inthe night when the blizzard kept up its incessant beating. She alsobelieved that the sound through the pines--that roaring,ever-changing, unhuman sound--was not of the wind's making. It wasvoices,--spirit voices,--voices of the dead, of those who had gonedown into the small cemetery beyond the road.

  Only the day before Matty had told her how, one night, a tall,wandering white thing had walked in silence across the fields toJonathan Woggles' house. In the story, Jonathan's grandpa was about topass away. The glittering spirit stalked around and around the house,waiting for the old man's soul. She was about to relate the tale whenher father repeated:

  "Your uncle is bad enough to want us out of the way."

  The shuddering chill again possessed her. She was torn between horrorand eagerness--horror of what might be and eagerness to escape it.

  "But he can't get us out, can he?" she questioned.

  "Yes, I'm afraid he can and will! Your Uncle Jordan is your mother'sstepbrother, no direct relation to you, but the only one left to lookafter you in the world but me. If you've any desire to live, you mustleave here after I've gone, and that's all there is to it!"

  Virginia then understood, for the first time, something of the dangermenacing her. Her heart beat and pounded like an engine ploughing uphill. From sheer human desire of self-preservation, she partly rosefrom the chair, with the idea of immediate departure.

  "I could go with Matty, couldn't I?" she suggested.

  Mr. Singleton made a negative gesture with his head, flinging himselfdown again.

  "Matty? Matty, the nigger? No, of course not. Matty is nothing to anyone who hasn't money, and you'll have none to pay her, or any oneelse, after I'm gone. You must eat and live for three long years. Doyou understand that?... Sit back in your chair and don't fidget," heconcluded.

  The girl obeyed, and a silence fell between them. The thought of thewonderful white presence of which Matty had told her faded from hermind. Her heart lay stone-like below her tightening throat, for herformer world and all the dear familiar things it held were to bedashed from her, as a rose jar is broken on a marble floor, by asingle decision of the thin, tall father whom yesterday she had notknown. She understood that if her uncle succeeded in his wicked plans,she, too, would join that small number of people, dead and buried,under the pines. Her father's words brought the cemetery, with itsbroken cross and headstones, its low toolhouse, and the restless nightspirits, closer than Matty, with her vivid, ghastly tales, had everdone. In the past, Matty had stood between her and her fears; in thefuture, there would be only a stranger, her uncle, the man her fatherhad just warned her against. At length Mr. Singleton coughedpainfully, and spoke with evident effort.

  "The doctor told me not long ago I might die at any moment. That'swhat made me escape--I mean, what drove me home."

  He rose and walked nervously up and down the room.

  "The doctor made me think of you. I can't live long."

  "It's awful bad," answered the girl, sighing. "I wouldn't know whereto go if there wasn't any Matty--or--you."

  Her voice lowered on the last word, and she continued: "I wish I hadmy mother. Matty says mothers kiss their girls and make over 'em likeMilly Ann does with her kittens--do they? Some of 'em?"

  The father glanced curiously into the small, earnest, uplifted face.

  "I couldn't help being your girl," pursued Virginia. "I'd have hadanother father if I could, one who'd 've loved me. Matty says evenfathers like their kids sometimes--a little." She paused a minute, awan, sweet smile passing over her lips. "But I've got Milly Ann andher kittens, and they're soft and warm and wriggley."

  What a strange child was this daughter of his! She spoke of cats as ifthey were babies; of loving as if it were universal. Each moment, inher presence, he realized more and more what he had missed in thusneglecting her. But he had hurried to Mottville from foreign lands toperform one duty, at least,--to save her, if possible. So he returnedto his vital subject.

  "Your Uncle Jordan's coming, perhaps this week. He's found out I'mhere! That's why you must go away."

  "Shall I--just go?" queried Virginia. "I don't know of any specialplace--do you?" and she shivered again as the wind, in a fierce gust,blew out from the slumbering fire a wreath of smoke that encircled theroom and hung grey-blue about the ceiling.

  "I only know one man," reflected Mr. Singleton, presently, "and you'llhave to find him yourself--after I've gone, of course; but if JordanMorse should come, you'd have to go quickly."

  "I'd go faster'n anything," decided the girl, throwing up her head.

  "Your mother's father used to have a family in his tenement house onthis place, and they were all very fond of her when she was a girl.One of the sons moved to Bellaire. He's the only one left, and wouldhelp you, I know."

  "Mebbe if you'd talk to my uncle----" Virginia cut in.

  An emphatic negative gesture frightened her.

  "You don't know him," said Singleton, biting his lips. "He's nearerbeing a devil than any other human being." It was a feeling ofbitterness, of the deadly wrong done him, that forced him to sarcasm."The great--the good Jordan Morse--bah!" he sneered. "If he's 'good,'so are fiends from perdition."

  He sent the last words out between his teeth as if he loathed the ideaexpressed in them. If they brought a sombre red to the girl's cheeks,it was not because she did not have sympathy with him.

  Sudden leaping flames of passion yellowed the man's eyes, and hestaggered up.

  "May God damn the best in him! May all he loves wither and blight! Mayblack Heaven break his heart----"

  Jinnie sprang forward and clutched him fiercely by the arm. "Don't!Don't!" she implored. "That's awful, awful!"

  Singleton sank back, brushing his foaming lips with the back of hishand.

  "Well," he muttered, "he followed me abroad and did for me overthere!"

  "Did for you?" Virginia repeated after him, parrot-like, gazing at himin a puzzled way as she sat down again.

  "Yes, me! If I'd had any sense, I might have known his game. In thestate of his finances he'd no business to come over at all. But Ididn't know until he got there how evil he was. Oh, God! I wish Ihad--but I didn't, and now my only work left is to send yousomewhere----Oh, why didn't I know?"

  The deep sadness, the longing in his voice brought Virginia to herfeet once more. She wanted to do something for the thin, sick manbecause she loved him--just that! Years of neglect had failed to killin the young heart the cherished affection for her absent parent, andin some subtle way he now appealed to the mother within her, as allsick men do to all heart-women.

  "I'd like to help you if I could, father," she said.

  The man, with a quick, spasmodic action, drew her to him. Never had heseen such a pair of eyes! They reminded him of Italian skies underwhich he had dreamed brave dreams--dreamed dreams which would ever bedreams. The end of them now was the grave.

  "Little girl! My little girl!" he murmured, caressing her shoulders.Then he caught himself sharply, crushing the sentiment from hisvoice.

  "Hide yourself; change your name; do anything to keep from your uncle.When you're old enough to handle your own affairs, you can come out ofyour hiding-place--do you understand me?"

  "I think I do," she said, tears gathering under her lids.

  "I don't know of any one I could trust in this county. Jordan Morsewould get 'em all under his spell. That would be the last of you. Foryour mothe
r's sake----" His lips quivered, but he went on with amasterful effort to choke down a sob,--"I may honestly say, for yourown sake, I want you to live and do well."

  There was some strain in his passionate voice that stirred terrificemotion in the girl, awakening new, tumultuous impulses. It gave her amad desire to do something, something for her father, something forherself. At that moment she loved him very much indeed and was readyto go to any length to help him. He had told her she must leave.Perhaps----

  Virginia glanced through the window into the darkness. Through thefalling snow she could see a giant pine throw out appealing arms. Theywere like beckoning, sentient beings to the girl, who loved naturewith all the passionate strength of her young being. Yet to-night theyfilled her with new wonder,--an awe she had never felt before. Despiteher onrushing thoughts, she tried to calm her mind, to say with eageremphasis:

  "Shall I run to-night--now?"

  "No, not to-night; don't leave me yet. Sit down in the chair again;stay until I tell you."

  "All right," murmured Virginia, walking away.

  The father watched the fire a few minutes.

  "I'll give you a letter to Grandoken, Lafe Grandoken," he saidpresently, looking up. "For your mother's sake he'll take you, andsome day you can repay him. You see it's this way: Your mother trustedyour uncle more than she did me, or she'd never have given you intohis care in case of my death. Well, he's got me, and he'll get you."

  With no thought of disobedience, Virginia slipped from the chair toher feet.

  "He won't get me if I run now, will he?" she questioned breathlessly;"not if I go to--what'd you say his name was?"

  She was all excitement, ready to do whatever she was bidden. Slowly,as she stood there, the tremendous suspense left her.

  "Why couldn't we both go, you and me?" she entreated eagerly. "Let'sboth go to-night. I'll take care of you. I'll see you don't get wet."

  Her glance met and held his for a few seconds. The vibrant voicethrilled and stirred the father as if he had been dead and suddenlyslipped back to life again. A brave smile, tenderly sweet, broke overVirginia's lips.

  "Come," she said, holding out her hands. "Come, I'll get my fiddle andwe'll go."

  He was struck by the vehemence of her appeal. He allowed himself tolisten for a moment--to overbalance all his preconceived plans, butjust then his past life, Jordan Morse, his own near approaching end,sank into his mind, and the fire in his eyes went out. There wasfinality in the shake of his shoulders.

  "No, no," he murmured, sinking back. "It's too late for me. I couldn'tearn money enough to feed a pup. I'm all to pieces--no more good toany one. No, you'll have to go alone."

  "I'm sorry." The girl caught her breath in disappointment. She wascrying softly and made no effort to wipe away her tears.

  The silent restraint was broken only by the ticking of the shadowyclock on the mantel and Virginia's broken sobs. She stifled them backas her father spoke comfortingly.

  "Well, well, there, don't cry! If your mother'd lived, we'd all 'vebeen better."

  "I wish she had," gasped the girl, making a dash at her eyes. "I wishshe'd stayed so I'd 've had her to love. Perhaps I'd 've had you, too,then."

  "There's no telling," answered Singleton, drawing up to his desk andbeginning to write.

  Virginia watched the pen move over the white page for a space, hermind filled with mixed emotions. Then she turned her eyes from herfather to the grate as a whirl of ashes and smoke came out.

  Matty's story came back to her mind, and she glanced toward thewindow, but back to the fire quickly. The blizzard seemed to rage insympathy with her own riotous thoughts. As another gust of windrattled the casements and shook down showers of soot from the chimney,Virginia turned back to the writer.

  "It's the ghosts of my mother's folks that make that noise," sheconfided gently.

  "Keep quiet!" ordered Singleton, frowning.

  After the letters were finished and sealed, Mr. Singleton spoke."There! I've done the best I can for you under the circumstances. Nowon this,"--he held up a piece of paper--"I've written just how you'reto reach Grandoken's in Bellaire. These letters you're to give to him.This one let him open and read." Mr. Singleton tapped a letter he heldup. "In this one, I've written what your uncle did to me. Give it toGrandoken, telling him I said to let it remain sealed unless JordanMorse claims you. If you reach eighteen safely, burn the letter."

  He paused and took out a pocketbook.

  "Money is scarce these days, but take this and it'll get you toGrandoken's. It's all I have, anyway. Now go along to bed."

  He handed the envelopes to her, and his hand came in contact withhers. The very touch of it, the warmth and life surging through her,gave a keener edge to his misery.

  Virginia took the letters and money. She walked slowly to the door. Atthe threshold she halted, turning to her father.

  "May I take the cats with me?" she called back to him.

  She started to explain, but he cut her words off with a fierceejaculation.

  "Hell, yes!" he snapped. "Damn the cats! Get out!"

  Once in the hall, Virginia stood and looked back upon the closeddoor.

  "I guess he don't need me to teach him swear words," she told herselfin a whisper.

  Then she went down to the kitchen, where Matty sat dreaming over awood fire.