As he reached the house a sleigh was standing on the roadway.  Anna met him at the door.  “John,” she said, “there was a stranger came while you were in the barn, and wanted a lodging for the night; a city man, I reckon, by his clothes.  I hated to refuse him, and I put him in Willie’s room.  We’ll never want it again, and he’s gone to sleep.”

“Ay, we can’t refuse.”

John Enderby took out the horse to the barn, and then returned to his vigil with Anna beside the fire.

The fumes of the buttermilk had died out of his brain.  He was thinking, as he sat there, of midnight and what it would bring.

In the room above, the man in the sealskin coat had thrown himself down, clothes and all, upon the bed, tired with his drive.

“How it all comes back to me,” he muttered as he fell asleep, “the same old room, nothing changed—­except them—­how worn they look,” and a tear started to his eyes.  He thought of his leaving his home fifteen years ago, of his struggle in the great city, of the great idea he had conceived of making money, and of the Farm Investment Company he had instituted—­the simple system of applying the crushing power of capital to exact the uttermost penny from the farm loans.  And now here he was back again, true to his word, with a million dollars in his belt.  “To-morrow,” he had murmured, “I will tell them.  It will be Xmas.”  Then William—­yes, reader, it was William (see line 503 above) had fallen asleep.

The hours passed, and kept passing.

It was 11.30.

Then suddenly Anna started from her place.

“Henry!” she cried as the door opened and a man entered.  He advanced gladly to meet her, and in a moment mother and son were folded in a close embrace.  It was Henry, the man from Sing Sing.  True to his word, he had slipped away unostentatiously at the height of the festivities.

“Alas, Henry,” said the mother after the warmth of the first greetings had passed, “you come at an unlucky hour.”  They told him of the mortgage on the farm and the ruin of his home.

“Yes,” said Anna, “not even a bed to offer you,” and she spoke of the strangers who had arrived; of the stricken woman and the child, and the rich man in the sealskin coat who had asked for a night’s shelter.

Henry listened intently while they told him of the man, and a sudden light of intelligence flashed into his eye.

“By Heaven, father, I have it!” he cried.  Then, dropping his voice, he said, “Speak low, father.  This man upstairs, he had a sealskin coat and silk hat?”

“Yes,” said the father.

“Father,” said Henry, “I saw a man sitting in a sleigh in the cedar swamp.  He had money in his hand, and he counted it, and chuckled,—­five dollar gold pieces—­in all, 1,125,465 dollars and a quarter.”

The father and son looked at one another.

“I see your idea,” said Enderby sternly.