awfully good to me, but she can't bear Sam. She thinks he brings bad luck."
"How on earth did you meet him?"
"His father was rich. He was a good friend of my Papa's. We came near losing our farm once, because a bank failed. Mr. Ross sent Papa a signed check on his own bank, and told him to write the amount he needed on it, and pay him when he was able. Papa cried over it, and wouldn't use it, and wrote a poem on the back of he check—one of the sweetest of all, I think. In the war Mr. Ross lost his two younger sons, both killed at Gettysburg. His wife died heart-broken, and he only lived a year afterward. He sold his farm for Confederate money, and everything was lost. Sam was sent to the poorhouse. He found out somehow that we loved him and comes to see us. He's as harmless as a kitten, and works the garden beautifully."
"I'll remember," Elsie promised.
"And one thing more," she said, hesitatingly. "Mama asked me to speak to you of this—that's why she slipped away. There's one little room we have locked. It was Papa's study just as he left it, with his papers scattered on the desk, the books and pictures that he loved—you won't mind?"
Elsie slipped her arm about Marion, looked into the blue eyes, dim with tears, drew her close, and said:
"It shall be sacred, my child. You must come every day if possible, and help me."
"I will. I've so many beautiful places to show you in the woods—places he loved, and taught us to see and love.
