The girls were still sitting there half an hour later, when Jimmy Smith ran into them.

“Miss Shirley!” he cried eagerly, and approached with outstretched hand. “Mr. Willing told me you were back, and I have been hunting all over the place for you.”

He turned to Mabel.

“And how are you, Miss Mabel?” he asked.

Both girls returned his greeting cordially, not showing in any way that they knew of his talk with the stranger.

“We are so glad to be back, Jimmy,” said Shirley.

“Have you seen Gabriel yet?” asked Jimmy. “He has been wanting to see you.”

“How do you know that?” asked Mabel with a slight smile.

“Why, he told me so.”

“Told you?” laughed Mabel.

“To be sure,” said Jimmy quietly. “Gabriel and I have a language of our own, and when I told him Miss Shirley was coming back he just told me how anxious he had been to see you ever since you went away.”

“Well, I’m glad he missed me,” said Shirley. “Come, Mabel, I want to have a long talk with Dad.”

They left Jimmy and sought Mr. Willing. They found him a few minutes later, seated on the big front porch, deep in conversation with a stranger. Both girls felt sure that he was the man who tried to bribe Jimmy only a short time before.

They would have gone into the house but Mr. Willing called them.

“I want you to know my daughter, Mr. Jones,” he said to his visitor; “and also Miss Mabel Ashton, the daughter of my old friend, Colonel Ashton, whom you know.”

The man called Mr. Jones arose, and extended his hand, but the girls, pretending not to see it, acknowledged the introductions with the briefest of nods.

Jones noticed the unmistakable hostility in their manner, and withdrew his hand quickly. Mr. Willing also noticed it, and scowled slightly. The girls said nothing, and a moment later Mr. Willing said: “You girls run along now.”

Shirley and Mabel accepted their dismissal with gladness, and went into the house. Mr. Willing, having disposed of his visitor half an hour later, followed them. He turned to Shirley sharply.

“In the future,” he said, “you will treat your father’s friends with more respect than you did Mr. Jones.”

“I don’t like him,” said Shirley.

Mr. Willing stepped back in surprise.

“You don’t like him?” he said in some amazement. “And because you don’t like one of my friends, is that any reason you should not treat him with respect?”

“I wasn’t disrespectful,” said Shirley, with something like a pout.

“You weren’t, eh? I’d like to know what you call it.”

“Well, I don’t like him,” said Shirley again,

“Why don’t you like him?” demanded Mr. Willing.

Shirley, mindful of the task she had set for herself, found it difficult to answer this question without arousing suspicion in her father’s mind, and for Jimmy’s sake she did not wish to do this. So she answered: “I just don’t.”

Mr. Willing threw up his hands in a gesture of dismay.

“Girls and women are too much for me,” he exclaimed.

He would have walked away, but Shirley stayed him.

“I want to have a private talk with you, Dad,” she said.

Mr. Willing looked at his daughter in surprise.

“Well, well,” he said finally, “you are getting to be quite a young lady, aren’t you? Want to have a private talk with me, eh? All right. Come into my sitting room.”

He led the way, and Shirley followed, after motioning to Mabel to await her return.

Seated in his big arm chair, with Shirley on the floor at his feet, Mr. Willing drew a cigar from his pocket, lighted it, fell back in the chair and puffed luxuriously.

“Now fire away,” he said.

“Dad,” said Shirley, coming to the point at once, “is it true that you have lost all your money?”

Mr. Willing came out of his chair with a bound.

“Who has been putting such notions into my little girl’s head?” he asked, but his voice was slightly strained.

Shirley was not deceived.

“Is it true that you have lost large sums on horse races?” she demanded.

Mr. Willing looked at his only daughter long and earnestly.

“Would it please you very much if I gave up gambling?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed it would, Dad,” said Shirley, rising to her feet.

Mr. Willing considered.

“Then here is what I will do,” he said at length. “I promise that after this one time, I will never bet a cent again.”

Shirley shook her head.

“No,” she said.

“You mean,” demanded her father, “that you even want me to let this sure thing go by?”

“Yes.”

“But after the comforts you have been used to, think how hard that will make it.”

“I can do with less,” said Shirley quietly.

“Do you realize,” said Mr. Willing, “that if I do as you say, and Gabriel wins, and he must, all we shall have is the prize, when we might have four times that much?”

“Is the farm clear?” demanded Shirley.

“Yes, but I was figuring on raising some money on it to recoup my earlier losses.”

“Then,” said Shirley, “if the farm is clear, and Gabriel wins, we shall have enough. What more do we need?”

Mr. Willing hesitated, and Shirley continued.

“Come, Dad, promise me before it is too late. Mother would wish it, were she alive. You know that. We’ll get along some way. Come, Dad, will you promise?”

She stood tip and threw her arms around her father’s neck. Mr. Willing held her in a close embrace for several moments, and as he looked over her head he saw, in memory, another face that also seemed to plead with him.

He stepped back and held Shirley off at arms’ length, and for a long time gazed at her in silence.

“You are so like your mother,” he said quietly, “I can refuse you nothing.”

“Then you will promise?” asked Shirley eagerly.

“Yes,” said Mr. Willing slowly, “I promise.”

“There never was a better Daddy,” exclaimed Shirley.

Laughing happily, she threw both arms around him and squeezed him tightly.

“Stop, stop,” laughed Mr. Willing, “or you will make me sorry I promised.”

Shirley released him, and he patted her on the back affectionately.

“Run away now,” he said, “and leave your old Daddy here to think.”

With a parting kiss, Shirley left him, and rejoined Mabel on the porch.