Part 10

“My father--Mr. Mayfield--understood so. I regret he is not here. I regret still more I could not have seen you before you saw Mr. Briggs, as he wished me to.”

“Yes, miss.”

“My father is a friend of Mr. Briggs, and knows something of his affairs. There was a debt to a Mr. Parker” (here Miss Mayfield apparently consulted an entry in her tablets) “of one hundred and twelve dollars and seventy-five cents--am I right?”

The deputy, with great respect: “That is the figgers.”

“Which he wished to pay without the knowledge of Mr. Briggs, who would not have consented to it.”

The official opened his eyes. “Yes, miss.”

“Well, as Mr. Mayfield is NOT here, I am here to pay it for him. You can take a check on Wells, Fargo & Co., I suppose?”

“Certainly, miss.”

She took a check-book and pen and ink from her reticule, and filled up a check. She handed it to him, and the pen and ink. “You are to give me a receipt.”

The deputy looked at the matter-of-fact little figure, and signed and handed over the receipted bill.

“My father said Mr. Briggs was not to know this.”

“Certainly not, miss.”

“It was Mr. Briggs's intention to let the judgment take its course, and give up the house. You are a man of business, Mr. Dodd, and know that this is ridiculous!”

The deputy laughed. “In course, miss.”

“And whatever Mr. Briggs may have proposed to you to do, when you go back to the Forks, you are to write him a letter, and say that you will simply hold the judgment without levy.”

“All right, miss,” said the deputy, not ill-pleased to hold himself in this superior attitude to Jeff.

“And--”

“Yes, miss?”

She looked steadily at him. “Mr. Briggs told my father that he would pay you ten dollars for the privilege of staying here.”

“Yes, miss.”

“And, of course, THAT'S not necessary now.”

“No-o, miss.”

A very small white hand--a mere child's hand--was here extended, palm uppermost.

The official, demoralized completely, looked at it a moment, then went into his pockets and counted out into the palm the coins given by Jeff; they completely filled the tiny receptacle.

Miss Mayfield counted the money gravely, and placed it in her portemonnaie with a snap.

Certain qualities affect certain natures. This practical business act of the diminutive beauty before him--albeit he was just ten dollars out of pocket by it--struck the official into helpless admiration. He hesitated.

“That's all,” said Miss Mayfield coolly; “you need not wait. The letter was only an excuse to get Mr. Briggs out of the way.”

“I understand ye, miss.” He hesitated still. “Do you reckon to stop in these parts long?”