The very next morning after this talk Wyatt Jeffreys met Berkley Matthews on the street just outside the Jackson House. "Hallo," cried the latter. "Just have your note. I've been staying with John Emory, and we've been off ducking so I didn't get my mail till this morning. It certainly would be a good joke if I had captured your trunk. Suppose you come and have a look at it, and if you identify it, of course you shall have it without delay. Come up to my room."

As Mr. Jeffreys followed the springing step all suspicion fled. Once in the room the trunk was easily recognized. "There were some papers," said Mr. Jeffreys.

"Oh, yes, they are over at my office. I had to get a locksmith to open the trunk for me, and he had to put on a new lock, as you see. I took out the clothing over here, sent the trunk across the way, dumped out the papers in a valise without looking at them, and there they are. You can get them any time."

"I'd like you to go over them with me when you have time, Matthews."

"Very well. Just now I am a little rushed, but we can take it up later when I get this case through I am now at work upon. In the meantime I will see that you get the trunk and the rest of the things. I'll try to get them off this afternoon. I am certainly glad I happened to take a fancy to your trunk, but what a queer coincidence it is. I never associated it with you at all. Those initials, J. S. D. would have misled me in any event. I told Miss Ri they stood for Judge Some Day, and I think they are about the only part of the trunk I feel loth to give up."

Mr. Jeffreys smiled. It was like a sentimental Southerner, he thought. Then, after some discussion about cost of transportation and all that, the matter was settled to the satisfaction of both.

With the delivery of the trunk came the ducks, not inside the trunk, of course, for that contained everything which was in it at the time of Berkley's first possession, everything except the papers. The trunk was brought to Miss Parthy's by an old colored man picturesquely antique both as regarded his costume and himself. Uncle Moke everyone called him, his real name of Moses having fallen into disuse so long before that no one remembered it. He was general factotum around town and a trusty messenger. He had delivered his first charge at Miss Parthy's door, and then was ready for Miss Ri. Nothing pleased him more than such an errand. "Evenin' Miss Ri," said the old fellow with many a bow and scrape, his ragged hat in his hand. "Mr. Berk Matthews' compliments, Miss Ri, an' dese yer ducks, Miss. He say he hopes yuh-alls have 'em fo' suppah, an' he be 'long 'bout seben fo' to he'p yuh-alls eat 'em," the last with a little chuckle of pleasure at delivering such a message.

"Very well, Uncle Moke," returned Miss Ri, taking the ducks. "Whether I have them for supper or not is my look out, you tell Mr. Berk."

"Dey nice fat ducks," remarked Uncle Moke with the privilege of an old acquaintance.

"I see they are."

"Yuh got some cu'ant jelly, is yuh, Miss Ri? Ef yuh ain't mah ole woman got a little she kin spare yuh."

"I know Aunt Welcome's jelly is good, Uncle Moke, but I reckon I have enough for some time to come. How is your wife?"

"She thes tollable, Miss Ri."

"And you?"

"I thes tollable. I has mis'ry in mah j'ints f'om de rheumatiz dese col' days. I kin skeerce tote de rale heavy trunks. Dat one I thes now taken to Miss Parthy's fo' de strange young man wa'n't de heavy kin'."

"Did you take a trunk to Miss Parthy's for Mr. Jeffreys?"

"Yas'm. Mr. Berk he done sont it f'om de hotel. Little weenchy trunk, kinder old-fashion."

"Um-hm," said Miss Ri, nodding her head. "So that's done. Have you good warm flannels, Uncle Moke?" Miss Ri looked him over, perceiving the shabbiness of his attire, ragged shirt, threadbare trousers.

"I ain't had time to buy no winter flannins yet, Miss Ri," responded the old man with a pride that forbade giving the real reason.

"Well, you stop by to-morrow," said Miss Ri. "I shouldn't in the least wonder if there were some things in the house that you could wear, and there is no use to buy anything when I'd be glad to get rid of some underwear that I have on hand."

"Thanky, ma'am, thanky." The bowing and scraping were continued to a degree. "I sholy is obleedged to yuh, Miss Ri. It save me a lot o' bother. I nuvver was no han' at buyin' flannins, and Welky she don' git about much."

Miss Ri watched him stiffly mount his creaking wagon drawn by a scrubby mule, then she went in with the ducks. "Well," she announced, "here they are at last. Don't let me forget, Verlinda, to hunt up some things for Uncle Moke, and if I haven't anything I must buy some. The poor old soul hasn't enough to keep him warm. I don't suppose he makes a great deal these days, for the younger and stronger men are employed where he used to be. He is not able to carry heavy burdens. By the way, the trunk seems to have been delivered, too. Aren't you curious to hear the report. Berk, the impudent boy, sent word he was coming over to help eat the ducks, and wouldn't we please to have them for supper to-night. Isn't that just like him? He does not deserve to be treated decently after the way he has neglected us, but I suppose we shall have to be nice to him as long as he has sent us the ducks." She went on to the kitchen to see Phebe about supper of which she was ready enough to make a true feast.

True to his promise, Berkley arrived promptly for supper. "You renegade," cried Miss Ri. "We were beginning to think all manner of evil about you."

"You were? I didn't expect that of you. What have I done?"

"You have neglected us abominably."

"It does look that way, but I really couldn't help it. I had a tough week of it off with Judge Baker, and then to limber up my brain I took a little outing with some of the boys. We all went down to John Emory's little shack. Didn't I send you the first fruits of my chase? I hope Unc' Moke understood he was to leave the ducks here, and that he didn't take them to Miss Parthy's."

"They came safely enough, and our thanks are ready. We accept your excuses since they seem moderately reasonable, don't we, Verlinda?"

She smiled her response and came forward to greet the young man.

"And how goes the school? Does the verse-making continue?" he asked looking down with interest showing in his eyes.

"The school hasn't finished me yet, and the verses," she blushed a little, "go spasmodically. I haven't sent out any more effusions."

"You must do it. Aren't we proud of her, Miss Ri? Oh, did you hear that the trunk had been found, and that mine was the great mind that happened to realize its value?"

"It was accident, pure accident," cried Miss Ri. "Your great mind had nothing to do with it. You have sent it back to the owner?"

"Yes, worse luck. I wanted to keep it on account of the letters upon it. Now I have nothing to cheer me in my despondent moments. It was quite a fillip to my ambitions to see those letters. I don't know where I shall get another mascot."

"What of the papers?" asked Linda.

"Oh, we haven't come to those yet; they are at my office, and there they will stay till Jeffreys and I can look them over. Ducks ready? Good! May I escort you, Miss Ri. Will you take my other arm, Linda?" They marched solemnly to the dining-room. For some reason Berkley was suddenly subdued and was so long in taking the initiative in the carving of the ducks that Miss Ri spoke up. "Where are your thoughts, Berk?" Then he picked up the wrong knife and fork in confusion and laughed a little nervously.

But though the ducks were done to a turn, and everything was as it should be, Berkley was distrait and ill at ease all the evening, though he stayed quite as late as usual and went off with a jest.

The door had no sooner closed behind him than Miss Ri turned to Linda to say. "I can't think what is the matter with Berk. Did it strike you that he was embarrassed and unlike himself."

"I did think so, but put away the thought as coming from my own vain imaginings. What do you suppose is the matter?"

"I should say it was one of two things; either he is in love or there is something in those papers that is bothering him. I wonder if, after all, it was his mother whom he was so eager to see in the city. I'm beginning to get suspicious."

"But about the papers; what could be in them?"

"That is just what I don't know, but I'm going to find out. I have a deal of thinking to do, Verlinda, my dear. Go to bed and let me puzzle out a few things. Berk said he had seen Grace Talbot, didn't he?" Linda paused, her foot on the stair. "Yes, he spoke of her, said she was looking unusually well." Then a little laugh rippled out. "You don't imagine he has fallen in love with Grace, do you?"

"Some men are fools enough to do anything," returned Miss Ri crossly.

"Then, of course, you don't get mad with such," vouchsafed Linda. Then she turned, a slim graceful figure in trailing black, and came swiftly up to Miss Ri. "You dear old thing," she said, "you mustn't get notions in your head like that; it doesn't make any difference; nothing makes very much difference. Suppose he should marry Grace, then I'd have Talbot's Angles."

"And I'd lose you," returned Miss Ri ruefully. "Are you sleepy? No? Come in then, and let's talk over people and things."

"Let's leave out Berkley and Grace."

"Very well, we'll talk of your new cousin. By the way, if Berk has examined those papers he must know the relationship. Possibly that is just what is the matter."

"I don't think so, besides, I had the impression that he had not looked at them. But we weren't going to talk of Berk, you know. Tell me plainly, what do you think of my new cousin?"

"I think he is an out and out Yankee. Clever enough in some directions, rather whimsical, deadly afraid you will find out what he is thinking about, frightfully cautious of showing his feelings, with a conscience which worries him because his inclination isn't always to follow it exactly, wherein he differs from another who follows his impulses, and whose impulses are always generous ones. Your Mr. Jeffreys sits down and pros and cons for hours. Someone, whose name we don't mention, plunges out, impelled by an unselfish motive, and does the thing that the other deliberates over. Yet I won't say the cousin doesn't do fine honorable things once he makes up his mind it is right. Very likely he rises to his heights by a different process, and doesn't ever make the mistake of over zeal, of going at too brisk a pace like the unmentioned sometimes does. What the latter does is with his whole heart. I think he might almost perjure himself for one he loved; I know he would cheerfully die in the same cause."

Linda, leaning with elbows on table, thoughtfully tapped one hand with an ivory paper-cutter. "You are analytical, Aunt Ri, but probably you are right. Yet, after all if a man, through evolutions of reasoning, reaches a point where his conscience bids him do a noble deed, isn't he just as much to be approved as he who rushes out, never asking for reasons, and does a like noble thing? And isn't he more to be approved than the man who sacrifices his integrity, or does a wrong thing for love's sake?"

"Oh, yes, I don't doubt it though it depends largely upon one's view of the case. For my part I admire the spontaneous, intrepid man more than the deliberate one, but that is a matter of preference."

"Which do you think would be the easier to live with?" Linda balanced the paper-cutter on the tips of her fingers. "Wouldn't the impetuous man be more difficult, more trying, for the very reason of his impetuosity?"

"Yes, but he'd be vastly more entertaining, to my mind, because of his uncertainty."

"In perjuring himself, for example?"

"Oh, we needn't go so far as that, Verlinda. A really good man would never go so far unless—"

"Unless?"

"He felt the cause for which he criminated himself was a greater thing than his own state of well-being. I can imagine certain men who would sacrifice their immortal welfare for the sake of a sacred cause."

"And you think Berkley Matthews is like that?"

"No, I don't say so? I won't go so far in my estimate of him, though I do say there are few things he wouldn't do for one he loved. But you remember we were not to mention him."

"We don't appear to be doing much else. We are comparing him all the time with Mr. Jeffreys whether we mention his name or not. I agree with you in thinking Berk is capable of fine things, but so I believe is Mr. Jeffreys."

"Berk has the tenderest of hearts," continued Miss Ri, "and he has thoughtful little ways that please an elderly woman like myself. I could but notice the difference when I was walking with Mr. Jeffreys. Did he help me over a gutter, or up a steep curb? Not he. Not that I wanted help, but it was the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace that I missed. Berk watches out for your every step, makes way for you, as it were. If he wore a Sir Walter Raleigh cloak it would be mud from end to end so readily would he spread it for a woman's feet to tread on. He may not have the tall and graceful figure of your cousin, but he can bow like a courtier, and will stand with his head uncovered in any weather rather than wear his hat in a lady's presence."

"I have noticed all those things," admitted Linda. "So far, in your opinion, his side of the scales tip far, far below my cousin's, but then one must make allowances for your partiality. You've known Berk since he was born. Perhaps Mr. Jeffreys' mother may have had just so good an opinion of him."

"Being his mother she probably had. What have you to put in his side of the scales?"

"Oh, good looks, a very dignified bearing, and a perfectly well-trained conscience which wouldn't run away with him."

"You know I don't call that so desirable a quality as the impulsive generosity."

"But I do, so if you leave your impulsive generosity in the scales, I must have the well-trained conscience."

"Very well. Go on."

"Then, there's your mud-spattered cloak which I will balance with—let me see—"

"You can't find anything to equal that," cried Miss Ri triumphantly.

"Oh, yes, I can. There is a certain beautiful dignity and a certain indescribable charm; I don't know exactly wherein it lies, but it is there. Bertie Bryan has discovered it, too, and very probably it has not escaped you."

"I don't see it at all."

"There we are again, so you will have to take the courtesy and I'll have the dignity and charm. I haven't a doubt but if we knew Mr. Jeffreys better we should find a host of other things."

"He is not sympathetic in the way Berk is."

The paper-cutter was at work again. "No-o," Linda admitted, "he doesn't seem to be, but perhaps he really is, inside."

"Then I don't see what use it is to anyone. Berk shows that quality in his eyes. He has dear eyes, I think."

Linda neither affirmed nor denied though she suddenly remembered the eager, tender look bestowed upon her that day in the postoffice when she gave back the newspaper after reading her little poem in it. "We certainly have discussed those two long enough," she said lightly. "How their ears must burn. What next, Aunt Ri?"

"I've been thinking I'd like to get some facts for you from some other source than Wyatt Jeffreys. There's our old family lawyer, Judge Goldsborough, who was your family's lawyer as well. He retired from active life long ago, and is a very old man now, but I believe he could tell us things. He knew your grandfather and all that. Some day we will go to see him. We'll make it an ancestral pilgrimage. He lives up in the next county where his son has a fine estate. On the way we can take in that old church where my grandparents were married; they were Roman Catholics, you see, and I have always wanted to see that old church. How do you like the idea of such a trip?"

"Immensely. You are very clever to have thought of it, Aunt Ri."

"Then some Saturday we will go. The judge will be delighted to see you, and me, too, I am not too modest to say. He is a dear old man and, though his memory is not what it was, the way back things are those he remembers the best. Now go to bed. We've talked long enough. Go to bed."