“Having squandered a small fortune on the carriage down.  Better leave them with me, Debbie, and let me send you what you want afterwards.”

“Thank you.  You would not have them to send afterwards.”

“Oh, I think I would.”

“No.  I shall settle everything before I leave, and the sale will be held immediately.  The furniture first, and then the place.”  Her mouth closed upon the words like a steel snap.

“Just as you please about that,” he said quietly.  “Any time will suit me.”

“By public auction,” she added, with a sharp glance at him—­“to the highest bidder.”

“Yes,” was his laconic comment.  “Me.”

“Not necessarily,” said she, roused by the small word that held such large meanings.  “There are a few other rich persons in the western district, to whom Redford may appear desirable.”

“There are,” he agreed easily.  “I know several.  But I shall outbid them.”

She was strongly agitated.  “Oh, I hope they won’t let you!”

“Why?” he asked.

At first she fenced with the question.

“Because you don’t want it.  You have more land already than one man ought to have.”  “I don’t know about what I ought to have, but I know that if you persist in throwing Redford away, I shall take it.”  He smiled at her angry perturbation.  “If I find I haven’t enough money to outbid everybody—­but I think I have—­I can sell Bundaboo.  If you won’t have Redford, I will—­yes, and every stick and stone that belongs to it.”

“And have people talking and saying that you did it for something else, and not business reasons.”

“People would be right, for once.”

“But I won’t have it!” cried Deb.  “I won’t stand being an object of your benevolence.  You want to pay a lot more than the place is worth, so as to augment our income.  You as good as own it—­”

“I want to keep your home for you against you change your mind.”  “The last thing I shall do, I assure you—­particularly after your saying that.”  Her nose, in spite of the smut on it, testified to her indignant dignity, up in the air, with its fine nostrils quivering.  “Now, look here, godpapa—­I will not have Redford put up to auction.  I’ll sell privately—­and to somebody else.”

“You cannot.”

“Oh, indeed!  Not when I am executor?”

“Certainly not—­except with the permission of your fellow-executor.”

She fell to pleading.

“Oh, let me—­do let me!  You know what I want—­to square up all the debts and have done with them.  I can’t sleep for thinking of what we owe you already.  Do you know how much it is?  Nearly forty thou—­”

He checked her with an impatient wave of the hand.

“All the debts will be provided for, of course.  The lawyers will adjust those matters.”

“I don’t trust you,” she urged, looking at him less angrily, but still as puzzled and distressed.  “I know you have designs to benefit me somehow—­unfairly, and because it’s me—­and if you only knew how I hated to be benefited—­”