Emily, who had entered at the mention of her name, took the paper from his trembling fingers.  She read what was written upon it.

“Why—­why, Auntie!” she cried, excitedly.  “Aunt Thankful, have you seen this?  He—­”

“Stop your talk!” shouted Solomon.  “Can’t you women do nothin’ but talk?  Sign your name alongside of mine as a witness.”

Emily took the pen and signed as directed.  Mr. Cobb snatched the paper from her, glanced at it and then handed it to Thankful.

“There!” he cried.  “That’s done, anyhow.  I’ve done so much.  Now—­now don’t say a word to me for a spell.  I—­I’m all in; that’s what I am, all in.”

Thankful did not say a word; she couldn’t have said it at that moment.  Upon the paper which she held in her hand was written a cancellation of the fifteen-hundred-dollar mortgage and a receipt in full for the loan itself, signed by Solomon Cobb.

Dimly and uncomprehendingly she heard Emily trying to thank their visitor.  But thanks he would not listen to.

“No, no, no!” he shouted.  “Go away and let me alone.  I’m a wicked, condemned critter.  Nobody’s ever cared a durn for me, nobody but one, and I broke my word to him.  Friendless I’ve lived since Abner went and friendless I’ll die.  Serve me right.  I ain’t got a livin’ soul of my own blood in the world.”

But Thankful was in a measure herself again.

“Don’t talk so, Solomon,” she cried.  “You have got somebody of your own blood.  I’m a relation of yours, even if ’tis a far-off relation.  I—­I don’t know how to thank you for this.  I—­”

He interrupted again.

“Yes,” he wailed, “you’re my relation.  I know it.  Think that makes it any better?  Look how I’ve treated you.  No, no; I’m goin’ to die and go—­”

“You’re goin’ to have breakfast, that’s what you’re goin’ to have.  And it shan’t be warmed up fried clams either.  Emily, you stay with him.  I’m goin’ to the kitchen.”

She fled to the kitchen, where, between fits of crying and laughing, which would have alarmed Imogene had she been there, she tried to prepare a breakfast which might tempt the repentant money-lender.  Emily joined her after a short interval.

“He won’t listen to anything,” said the young lady.  “He has been frightened almost to death, that’s certain.  He is praying now.  I came away and left him praying.  Oh, Auntie, isn’t it wonderful!  Isn’t it splendid!”

Thankful sighed.  “It’s so wonderful I can scarcely believe it,” she said.  “To think of his givin’ up money—­givin’ it away of his own accord!  I said last night that Jedediah’s comin’ home was a miracle.  This one beats that all to pieces.  I don’t know what to do about takin’ that thousand from him,” she added.  “I declare I don’t.  ’Course I shan’t take it in the long run; I’ll pay it back soon as ever I can.  But should I pretend to take it now?  That’s what troubles me.”