A MAID OF THE KENTUCKY HILLS



  "Keep it," said Father John in a low voice, mak-
ing a slight upward gesture. "In itself it is ze
ev'dence, in case ze papers be not foun'."
  A swift alarm struck at my heart.
  "But-" I began.
  With his rare, sunshiny smile the priest inter-
rupted.
  Then all at once a look of weary melancholy
spread over his features, and I knew he was thinking
again of the perfidy of his beloved niece. Every
muscle in my body was pulling me toward the Lodge,
and I now arose.
  "I can't thank you as I would for sending for me
and confiding in me as you have," I said, my words
shaky, because I had been strangely wrought upon
by all that had passed.
  He made a deprecatory, characteristic gesture with
both hands.
  "Zey came zis mornin', m'sieu," he replied, sadly,
glancing at the table. "I sen' for you w'en I read
zem."
  He sighed, shook his head, and reached for his
tobacco jar.
  "I sink zey will be zere, but-sings hap'n, m'sieu,
an' we can never tell. It has been ze twenty
year'."
  "But a tin box, father-that will hold them
                      354