'"
She nodded. "He says that there," she said chokingly. "But he--he
must have known. Oh, Jed, how CAN I let him go--to war?"
That portion of the letter which Jed was permitted to read was
straightforward and honest and manly. There were no appeals for
pity or sympathy. The writer stated his case and left the rest to
her, that was all. And Jed, reading between the lines, respected
Charles Phillips more than ever.
He and Maud talked for a long time after that. And, at last, they
reached a point which Jed had tried his best to avoid. Maud
mentioned it first. She had been speaking of his friendship for
her lover and for herself.
"I don't see what we should have done without your help, Jed," she
said. "And when I think what you have done for Charlie! Why, yes--
and now I know why you pretended to have found the four hundred
dollars Father thought he had lost. Pa left it at Wapatomac, after
all; you knew that?"
Jed stirred uneasily. He was standing by the window, looking out
into the yard.
"Yes, yes," he said hastily, "I know. Don't talk about it, Maud.
It makes me feel more like a fool than usual and . . . er . . .
don't seem as if that was hardly necessary, does it?"
"But I shall talk about it. When Father came home that night he
couldn't talk of anything else. He called it the prize puzzle of
the century.
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