And he never spoke of my mother save to sneer and curse the stage.

What is it, Kenny?
What are you thinking ?" "I think," said Kenny, making a colossal effort to speak with the calm he could not feel, "that somewhere buried on the farm is a great deal of money.

I think it belonged to your mother and that it was left in trust to your uncle for Donald and you--" "Kenny!" "I think," went on Kenny steadily, "that this singular clause in your uncle's will was a miser's struggle between justice and his instinct for hoarding and hiding.

Money he had kept so long he hated to relinquish.

Yet he dared not keep it.