He hurried off a moment later, affirming that he was late at the bank already.

“Course the cashier’s there and the rest of the help,” he added, “but it takes all hands and the cat to keep Lute from puttin’ the kindlin’ in the safe and lightin’ up the stove with ten dollar bills.  So long.”

After he had gone Jed turned to his remaining visitor.  His voice shook a little as he spoke.

“You haven’t told him!” he faltered, reproachfully.  “You—­you haven’t told him!”

She shook her head.  “I couldn’t—­I couldn’t,” she declared.  “Don’t look at me like that.  Please don’t!  I know it is wrong.  I feel like a criminal; I feel wicked.  But,” defiantly, “I should feel more wicked if I had told him and my brother had lost the only opportunity that might have come to him.  He will make good, Mr. Winslow.  I know he will.  He will make them respect him and like him.  They can’t help it.  See!” she cried, her excitement and agitation growing; “see how Mr. Reed, the bank president there at home, the one who wrote that letter, see what he did for Charles!  He knows, too; he knows the whole story.  I—­I wrote to him.  I wrote that very night when you told me, Mr. Winslow.  I explained everything, I begged him—­he is an old, old friend of our family—­ to do this thing for our sakes.  You see, it wasn’t asking him to lie, or to do anything wrong.  It was just that he tell of Charles and his ability and character as he knew them.  It wasn’t wrong, was it?”

Jed did not answer.

“If it was,” she declared, “I can’t help it.  I would do it again—­ for the same reason—­to save him and his future, to save us all.  I can’t help what you think of me.  It doesn’t matter.  All that does matter is that you keep silent and let my brother have his chance.”

Jed, leaning forward in his chair by the workbench, put his hand to his forehead.

“Don’t—­don’t talk so, Mrs. Armstrong,” he begged.  “You know—­you know I don’t think anything you’ve done is wrong.  I ain’t got the right to think any such thing as that.  And as for keepin’ still—­ why, I—­I did hope you wouldn’t feel ’twas necessary to ask that.”

“I don’t—­I don’t.  I know you and I trust you.  You are the only person in Orham whom I have trusted.  You know that.”

“Why, yes—­why, yes, I do know it and—­and I’m ever so much obliged to you.  More obliged than I can tell you, I am.  Now—­now would you mind tellin’ me just one thing more?  About this Mr. What’s-his-name out West in the bank there—­this Mr. Reed—­did he write you he thought ’twas all right for him to send Sam the—­the kind of letter he did send him, the one givin’ your brother such a good reference?”

The color rose in her face and she hesitated before replying.