That noon Henrietta hurried across the road to the Bruce mansion and found Judge Bruce on the porch, wiping his face and resting, after his walk up the hill, before going in for his midday meal.

“Carter here?” she asked rather breathlessly.

“Why, no, he ain't,” said the old Judge. “Set down, won't you, Henrietta? Hot day. No, Carter ain't home. He's gone on a trip. Out to Nevada or somewhere. Some sort of business Johnnie Alberson sent him off on. Wasn't nothing I'd do as well at, was it?”

It was not.

“Johnnie Alberson sent him?” exclaimed Henrietta.

“That's right,” said the Judge. “Looks sort of suspicious to me,” he added with a twinkle. “Ain't ever heard of Johnnie having a wife, have you? Nevada's where folks go to get rid of them entangling alliances, I've heard tell.”

Henrietta looked at him acutely.

“He didn't say why he was going? Carter did n't?” she asked.

“He might have, and then again he might n't have,” said the Judge. “No use pumpin' me, Henrietta. Us law folks can't be pumped.”

He waited and then asked:

“Heard from that Freeman Todder boarder of Miss Susan's lately?”

Henrietta studied the old man's face.

“You won't tell me anything?” she asked.

“Not a mite,” said the Judge. “Ain't no use askin' it,” and he chuckled.

Henrietta put her hand to her cheek, so hot was the cheek that it was like flame to her hand. She turned from the Judge and saw Johnnie Al-berson coming up the hill, as jaunty and unconcerned as if the day was not broiling hot.

“Oh!” wailed Henrietta, and she sped down and across the street and intercepted the obnoxious druggist. He received her with a smile.

“Hot day,” he said genially.

Henrietta brushed this aside.

“Did you send Carter Bruce West? To attend to my divorce? Did you dare interfere to that extent in my affairs? Did you?” she demanded.

“Bruce? Carter Bruce?” said Johnnie. “Why, yes, come to think of it, I did send him West on some sort of a divorce business. You see, I thought such things went better when personally conducted—”

“I don't care what you think! Did you dare to pay my bill to Miss Susan? Did you dare do that?”

“Oh! was that your bill I paid?” asked Johnnie. “I did pay some board bill. I do remember that now.”

“I won't have it!” declared Henrietta. “It's monstrous! It's outrageous. I never heard of such unwarranted—”

“Neither did I,” said Johnnie. “I'd be ashamed of myself—if I was ashamed.” And then, seriously, “But why shouldn't I? Two months from now it would be all right—when we are married. What are two months? Sixty days!”

“I've told you I'm not going to marry you. That I meant; and, more than ever, I mean it now. You have insulted me beyond measure.”

“Yes; awfully,” said Johnnie. “And that isn't all. I've cancelled what your Freeman took from me. I'm a cave man. I'm dubbing you with a modern club. I'm getting you in my villainous toils.”

“It is not a thing to be jocular about,” said Henrietta. “I will not have it!”

“All right,” said Johnnie cheerfully. “What are you going to do not to have it? Look, Henrietta; why be so obstinate? Don't you like me?”

“I will not have it!” she could only repeat.

“That's not what bothers me,” said Johnnie. “What I want to know is whether you will have me?”

“I will not have you!” said Henrietta. “I'll never marry any man! Least of all you—after this.”

“You'll just take Lem and go off and be a grandmother to him,” said Johnnie. “That's nice. Well—it's almost too hot to eat, isn't it?”

What could be done with such a man? There was nothing Henrietta could do. She had no money to repay what he had paid Miss Susan, and she did not know where Freeman had gone. Nevada might mean Reno, but old Judge Bruce was no fool, and Nevada might not even mean Nevada—probably did not. She stopped short where she stood. Johnnie tipped his hat politely and went on.

Later that day Henrietta sat in the cool parlor of the boarding-house trying to think what to do. She had gone over her slender assets and had found them all too scant to permit her to leave Riverbank, taking Lem or not taking him. To her came Miss Susan bearing a soiled envelope.

“A boy fetched this. He said there was n't any answer,” Miss Susan said. “He was that Swatty boy, and I gave him a good piece of my mind about thieving, while I had the chance.”

Henrietta tore open the envelope.

The note was from Harvey Redding. It asked her to come, if she could, to see him, at the junkyard of Moses Shuder. “About Lemuel,” the note said. Henrietta went.

She found the late saint in the junkyard tossing old iron into Shuder's wagon.

“I would n't have asked you to come here,” Harvey said, wiping his face, which was streaked with perspiration and rust, “only on account of Lem yonder. Lem's scared. Lem's afraid, now that I've come back, his aunt'll get word that I'm back an' come an' fetch him an' jail him. He's mortal afraid of that aunt, Lem is. Don't know as I blame him so dod-basted much, either. I'm sort of scared of her myself.”

“No reason, Mr. Redding,” Henrietta said. “She's cross—sometimes—but her heart is kind.”

“Lem don't feel so,” said Harvey. “Seems like she's dead set against Lem. Well, what I asked you to come for—seein' how I was scared to go up to Susan's house—was about somethin' Lem said about you wantin' to have him. I don't know but I'm willin'—”

“But don't you want him yourself?” asked Henrietta with a leap of her heart.

“I might want him, dod-baste it,” said Harvey, “but I ain't got him. She's got him. I pawned him to her, an' since I've went into pardnership with this here Shuder—”

“What?”

“Well, he ain't so dod-basted bad, at that, when you come to know him,” said Harvey. “He is sort of set against ham, but if other food is plenty I can git along. An' the dicker I made with him, as I was sayin', is goin' to take all my spare cash for quite a while. I guess him an' me, when we git things goin' right, is goin' to con-troll the junk business of this town, an' no mistake. We got a good combination in him an' me. He's a hard worker an' me—I've got the brains.”

“But about Lem?”

“Well, that's it. Accordin' to these here terms of pardnership I'm goin' to have to put in all the spare cash I can get for quite some time, an' it looks like it would be years before I could git Lem out o' pawn, an' he does hate dod-bastedly to be pawned to his Aunt Susan, he does. So if you want to unpawn him an' git him pawned to you, I ain't got no objections.”

“And you, Lem?” asked Henrietta. “Would you rather be pawned to me?”

“I bet you!” the boy said eagerly. “I'd like it.”

“I don't know! I 'll see what I can do,” Henrietta said. “I would love to have him. It is the greatest—the only desire of my heart.”

She went straight to Miss Susan when she reached the house.

“Well, I don't know,” Miss Susan said when

Henrietta had made her proposition, which was to take Lem out of pawn and pay Miss Susan the amount of Harvey's note a little at a time. “I won't tell a lie for nobody, not even to keep up a spite. Lem's been a sore trial to me, and I guess I ain't made to have boys around me. And there was a time when I thought you was the nicest woman I'd ever met. You've got a way with you that makes folks like you. Often and often I 've wished I had time from my work so I could fix myself up and set on the porch with you and get real friendly with you. Mebby you won't know what I mean, Henrietta, but many a time I've wished I had time to get the grease off me and be so I could put my arm around you, like Lorna and Gay does. That's the sort of way you've got about you. I ain't ashamed to say there's been times I'd have given a lot if I could have kissed you.”

“Yes, I know,” said Henrietta. “I know the feeling.”

“Mebby so,” said Susan, “but if so I guess you never had it when you was thinkin' of me. Nor I ain't ever had it toward no other woman—or man—not even my ma, as far as I can remember; she was such a fretty, naggish creature, poor soul!”

Miss Susan wiped an eye, furtively.

“I had an aunt once that made doughnuts and smelled of pink soap,” she went on. “The way I felt to her was the nearest like what I felt toward you. I don't know what to call it, unless it's like thoughts of a cool grave on a hot Sunday mornin' in church after a hard week's work. Henrietta, you're so comfortable! There just ain't no vinegar in you!”

“There is in you, Susan,” Henrietta said. “Do you know how much?”

“Aplenty!”

“Just about one drop to a gallon of goodness,” said Henrietta gayly. “A pint is a pound, is n't it? There must be about a hundred and sixty pints of you, Susan, and not over one pint is vinegar. Only you do let it all come to the top—you certainly do! And you are getting more and more vinegary.”

“I have my trials.”

“The trouble with both of us is that we're failures, and we are beginning to get old and it hurts,” said Henrietta. “You were going to send me away, when I had n't a cent in the world, but that would not hurt me as much as it hurt you. Such things would turn three more pints of Susan into vinegar. And you 'll nag Lem, and there will be three more pints of vinegared Susan. Do you know what I've noticed, Susan?”

“What?”

“I'm like soda to you. When you're sour a good spoonful of me makes you fizz and boil, but when you finish fizzing and boiling you are as sweet as honey. I take the sour out of your vinegar.”

“Yes, you do so,” said Susan, sighing. “That's why it is so hard on me to have to not like you. I wish you was a different sort of woman.”

“I am!” said Henrietta eagerly. “I am, and I mean to be. Try me! Let me have Lem!”

“Well, I'll think it over,” said Miss Susan. Henrietta was happier than she had been for years. She went from Miss Susan happily. If she could have Lem she would have a life-work—an opportunity to redeem what she had done in harm to Freeman, and she would have a shield against Johnnie Alberson, too. Twice that afternoon she spoke to Miss Susan.

“I ain't had time to think it over,” Miss Susan told her the first time. The second time Miss Susan said, “Well, I'm inclined. I'm more for than against, but I ain't quite sure yet. It looks like I would be.”

For Gay and Carter Bruce Henrietta had no more fears. She was even able to treat Johnnie Alberson with haughty calm when he came home that evening. At supper she questioned Miss Susan with her eyes as that tired but tireless woman waited on the table.

“I'm goin' to say 'yes,' if I don't change my mind,” Miss Susan whispered. “You see me before I go to bed.”

Henrietta was as happy as a young girl that evening, for she felt sure Miss Susan would give up Lem. She carefully avoided Johnnie Alberson, doing so by putting her arm around Lorna's waist and going across to Gay's. What might happen to Johnnie Alberson she did not care at that moment.

“Henrietta,” Lorna said, as they crossed the street, “do you know that Gay has had a letter from Carter Bruce? Carter says he is superintending a divorce. Do you know whose?”

“Freeman's,” Henrietta answered. “Yes, I knew that, Lorna.”

“Bruce writes that it is settled—that it is all arranged but the simple final details. Henrietta—”

“Yes?”

“You don't tell me anything about this love affair. Is Johnnie Alberson—has he—I mean—”

“He has asked me to marry him, if that is what you mean, Lorna,” Henrietta said, “but if you mean you want to know whether I am going to marry him or not, I'm not. I'm not going to marry any one. I'm going to have Lem. I'm going to make Miss Susan give me Lem, and I'm going to live with Miss Susan, and we will all be as happy as the day is long.”

“I think Johnnie likes you awfully well,” Lorna ventured.

Henrietta gave Lorna's waist a little squeeze. “I know he does,” she admitted cheerfully, “but I'm Lem's, and Lem is going to be mine.” They found Gay in a tremble of happiness, for Carter Bruce had written other things in his letter than the mere report that Freeman would surely have his divorce in a few days. It was almost an hour later when Henrietta arose from her seat on Gay's porch and peered across the street.

“Who is that?” she asked. “Isn't that Lem and his father going up Miss Susan's steps? It is! Good-bye, Gay!”

She overtook the panting ex-saint before he reached Miss Susan's front door.

“Oh, Mr. Redding!” she exclaimed. “I know you've come to see your sister. Here—this is the easiest chair. You must be so tired. I 'll tell her you're here. You want a fan, I know.”

“Well, 'tis dod-basted hot,” said Harvey, taking the proffered fan. “It's hot enough to make a saint swear, if I was one, which I ain't. No, mam; never again! Saintin' ain't in my line—not as a regular job. I don't say that maybe I won't do a little at it off an' on, times when the junk business gets a mite slack, but I don't figger to go at it regular again. The way I figger it out is that bein' a saint is too easy for a big, strong man like me. Yes, mam, too easy. I may take a whack at it once in a while as a sort of amusement—”

It was evident that Harvey did not mean to use the chair Henrietta had drawn forward for him, and a great fear came to her that he would reach Miss Susan and reclaim Lem. She pushed past him into the hall, and locked the screen door, saying, “I 'll tell Miss Susan you are here,” as she fled.

She threw open the kitchen door and stopped short. Miss Susan sat in her lone kitchen chair, and before her, seated on the edge of the table, was Johnnie Alberson.

“Oh!” Henrietta ejaculated, “I didn't know—”

“Wait!” said Miss Susan as Henrietta was about to go. “I'd as well say it now as any time, Henrietta. I can't let you have Lem.”

Johnnie Alberson carefully smoothed the cloth over his well-rounded knee. He caught Henrietta's eye and smiled at her.

“Cave-man business, Henrietta,” he said.

“What do you mean? Has Mr. Alberson been telling you I am not fit to have—” Henrietta began.

“Well, I'm sure I hate to disappoint you,” Miss Susan interrupted, “but an Alberson is an Alberson, and cash money is cash money. Lem ain't pawned to me any more; he's pawned to Mr. Alberson. Mr. Alberson paid me what Brother Harvey owes me and Lem's his.”

“Is this true?” Henrietta demanded. She felt she should be furiously angry, but for some reason she was not. Her heart, instead of pumping angry blood to her cheeks, leaped joyously, but she tried to put indignation in her voice. “Lem's mine,” said Johnnie.

“I thought maybe you would n't mind, Henrietta,” said Miss Susan, “seeing as how Johnnie tells me you and him are going to be married almost right away.”

“Cave-man business, Henrietta,” Johnnie repeated. “You see it's no use trying to fight me. I'm a rough one. I always have my way. An Alberson is an Alberson.”

“But you can't do this thing!” Henrietta exclaimed. She would not be driven in this way. “You cannot hand a child around as if he was a chattel, passing him from one to another. There is such a thing as the law, and there are a father's rights. A child cannot be pawned. I'll see his father. I'll—”

Harvey Redding, waving his palm-leaf fan, opened the door that led from the kitchen garden and came into the kitchen. Miss Susan turned her head.

“Umph!” she said scornfully. “It's about time you showed up, I expect. A nice sort of a saint you are, ain't you? A pretty saint you are, runnin' off no one knows where to, and—”

“Now, Susan,” said Harvey pleadingly, “I ain't no saint no more—”

“And leaving your son to be passed back and forth—”

“Now, you hold on!” said Harvey. “Don't you go tongue-lashin' me that way. I said I was n't no saint, an' I ain't, an' I'm liable to say what I feel like if you get me mad. You don't understand the first principles of bein' a saint, Susan Redding, an' you've got no right to criticize one. I've been one, an' I know. You're a nice one to talk about Lem, when all the time I've been wearin' my brain to a frazzle tryin' to figger out what would be best for him, goin' an' mortifying my flesh so I could be a saint an' he could be proud of me, an' goin' into the junk business an' out of it an' into it again. Don't you talk about saints! Why, dod-baste it, Susan! I'm more of a saint now that I ain't one than I was when I was one. Ain't I brought you the money right now to redeem Lem back?”

“You brought the money?”

Harvey tossed it into his sister's lap with a grand gesture.

“Money!” he puffed. “Count it! Ain't I brought it to you? An' ain't I gone an' give up my only son to Mr. Alberson here to keep forever, tearin' my feelin's to pieces for Lem's good so that boy could be raised up an Alberson? Ain't I signed a paper so that Mr. Alberson here can adopt Lem? An' you say I'm a nice sort of saint! Dod-baste it, I ain't either a nice sort of saint!”

Henrietta's face did redden now.

“Are you going to do that?” she asked Johnnie. “Are you going to adopt Lem?”

“Cave-man business,” said Johnnie, grinning at her fondly. “If Lem is willing I'm going to adopt him.”

“I 'll fetch him. There ain't no time like the present to get things settled,” said Miss Susan. While she was gone, the three stood silent, Johnnie still smiling at Henrietta. Harvey was the first to move. His roving eyes caught sight of a ham, partially demolished, on a platter on the table, and he moved toward it and cut a thick, unsaintly slice and laid it on a slice of bread.

“Lem likes ham,” he said. “You give Lem plenty of ham and you won't have no trouble with him. He takes after me that way.”

“Is that so, Lem?” asked Johnnie, as Lem appeared in the doorway, rubbing his sleepy eyes with one hand and trying to hold a coat around his waist with the other. “Do you like ham?”

“I guess so,” the boy said. “I mean, yes, sir, I do.”

“Then that's all right,” said Johnnie. “You shall have lots of ham. Lem, how would you like me for a father?”

Lem looked towards his parent but Harvey's back was still turned.

“I'd like you all right, I guess,” said Lem.

“Fine!” said Johnnie. “That's good, you see, because I 'm going to be your father from now on. And how would you like Miss Henrietta for a mother?”

“I'd like that fine!” said Lem, and he let his hand fall to Henrietta's hand and grasped it. “I'd like that bully!”

He looked up at Henrietta.

“Are you goin' to be?” he asked wistfully. “I wish you would be; are you?”

Somehow Johnnie Alberson was kneeling at the other side of the boy then, and when his arm went around Lem it went around Henrietta too. “Are you, Henrietta?” Johnnie asked.

“Oh, yes—yes!” said Henrietta. “I am, Lem, because I love you,” and then, much lower, she added, “and Johnnie.”

Miss Susan wiped her eyes on the edge of her apron.

Harvey, too, seemed to be affected, for he kept his back turned on the little group by the door; but what he said was:

“Well, I got quite a long walk ahead of me, so I guess I 'll just slice off another slice o' ham to sort o' eat on the way down. I don't never seem able to get my fill o' ham since I was a saint.”

THE END