"No, be hivings, an' ye don't do nuthin' of thet sort, Bob," returned

the widow, good-naturedly, busying herself with a dust-rag. "This is

me own house, an' Oi've tended ter the loikes of them sort er fellers

afore. There'll be no more bother this toime. Besides, it's a paceful

house Oi'm runnin', an' Oi know ye'r way of sittling them things. It's

too strenurous ye are, Misther Hampton. And what did ye do wid the

young lady, Oi make bould to ask?"

Hampton carelessly waved his hand toward the rear room, the door of

which stood ajar, and blew a thick cloud of smoke into the air, his

eyes continuing to gaze dreamily through the open window toward the

distant hills.

"Who's running the game over at the Occidental?" he asked,

professionally.

"Red Slavin, bad cess to him!" and her eyes regarded her questioner

with renewed anxiety. "But sure now, Bob, ye mustn't think of playin'

yit awhoile. Yer narves are in no fit shape, an' won't be fer a wake

yit."

He made no direct reply, and she hung about, flapping the dust-rag

uneasily.

"An' what did ye mane ter be doin' wid the young gyurl?" she questioned

at last, in womanly curiosity.

Hampton wheeled about on the hard chair, and regarded her quizzingly.

"Mrs. Guffy," he said, slowly, "you've been a mother to me, and it

would certainly be unkind not to give you a straight tip. Do? Why,

take care of her, of course. What else would you expect of one

possessing my kindly disposition and well-known motives of

philanthropy? Can it be that I have resided with you, off and on, for

ten years past without your ever realizing the fond yearnings of my

heart? Mrs. Guffy, I shall make her the heiress to my millions; I

shall marry her off to some Eastern nabob, and thus attain to that high

position in society I am so well fitted to adorn--sure, and what else

were you expecting, Mrs. Guffy?"

"A loikely story," with a sniff of disbelief. "They tell me she 's old

Gillis's daughter over to Bethune."

"They tell you, do they?" a sudden gleam of anger darkening his gray

eyes. "Who tell you?"

"Sure, Bob, an' thet 's nuthin' ter git mad about, so fur as I kin see.

The story is in iverybody's mouth. It wus thim sojers what brought ye

in thet tould most ov it, but the lieutenant,--Brant of the Seventh

Cavalry, no less,--who took dinner here afore he wint back after the

dead bodies, give me her name."




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