“Don’t talk like a fool, Lydia!” roared Amos.

Lydia turned to Kent, who was sitting on the back steps with them.  He leaned over and patted her hand.

“Why worry about it, Lyd?  Your father and I’ll look out for it all.”

“Do I have to keep it?” asked Lydia, tensely.  “Will the law make me?”

“I should say not!  You can give it to me, if you want to,” laughed Kent.

“But don’t you see how I feel?” cried Lydia.  “Don’t you see that all John Levine’s lands up there are haunted by death—­his own—­and all the starving Indians?  Oh, why did he do this to me!”

“I suppose you feel the same way about the cottage,” said Amos, sarcastically.

“I don’t either,” contradicted Lydia.  “I’m as happy as I can be that we’ve got that.  But all the rest!  I won’t have it, I tell you!  I’d rather be poverty stricken all my life.”

“Well, don’t worry too much about that,” said Kent.  “Dave Marshall thinks there won’t be anything left after the estate is settled, but the Indian lands.”

“Oh, Kent, you aren’t having anything to do with Dave Marshall, are you?” exclaimed Lydia.

Kent flushed a little.  “Well, his advice can’t hurt me.  If it’s bad, I don’t have to take it.  You ought to go out and see his farm, Lydia.  They’re getting the house all fitted with modern conveniences.  Dave’s going to make a model stock farm.”

“Bought with money earned by the Last Chance!” said Lydia.

“You can’t be so darned squeamish about where a man gets his money these days, Lyd.  Of course, there was no excuse for the Last Chance.  But Dave’s done what he could about it.”

Lydia made no reply and Kent looked at her quizzically.  “A New England conscience must be something awful to own, eh, Lyd?”

Lydia chuckled.  “It’s pretty bad,” she admitted, then she went on soberly, “but I won’t take those Indian lands.”

“You can give them to me,” reiterated Kent, cheerfully.

“She’ll keep them,” said Amos, shortly, “or Lydia and I’ll have our first real row.”

“Well, save up the fight till the estate’s settled,” said Kent, soothingly.  “And then you’ll know what you’re fighting about.  That will take some months.”

Lydia sighed with relief.  And again Kent laughed.  “Oh, Lyd!  You haven’t any idea how funny you are!  Come to, old lady!  This is the twentieth century!  And twentieth century business ethics don’t belong to town meeting days.  The best fellow gets the boodle!”

“Then Dave Marshall is the best fellow in our community, I suppose,” said Lydia.

“Oh, Gee, Lyd!  After all, he’s Margery’s father!”

Lydia looked at Kent thoughtfully.  Since the day under the willows, he had not made love to her, yet she had the feeling that Kent was devoted to her and she wondered sometimes why he liked to spend as much time with Margery as with herself.  Then she gave herself a mental shake.