"
"But it is different now, Judy," returned Brian. "Something has happened
that makes it necessary for me to know."
"Meanin' that there letter 'bout her brother bein' dead?" asked Judy,
shrewdly.
"Yes."
"What you-all got ter know for?"
"Because--" Brian could not finish.
Judy's beady eyes were watching him intently, now. "Hit looks like
you-all ain't a-needin' me ter tell you-all anythin'," she observed
dryly.
"Then Auntie Sue did send money?"
"She sure did. I seed her fix hit in the letter, myself," came the
answer.
"What kind of money?"
"I dunno,--some funny kind hit was,--what her brother done sent her from
some funny place, I dunno just where."
"When did she send it?"
"'Bout a month 'fore you come."
"And--and did any letter ever come from the bank to tell her that the
money was received by them all right?"
The mountain girl did not answer, but again turned her face away.
"Tell me," Brian insisted. "I--I--must know, Judy," and his voice was
harsh and broken with emotion.
The answer came reluctantly: "I reckon you-all knows where that there
money went ter."
The girl's answer sent a new thought like a hot iron into Brian Kent's
tortured brain. He caught Judy's arm in quick and fearful excitement.
"Judy!" he gasped, imploringly, "Judy, do you--? does Auntie Sue know--?
does she know that I--?"
"How could she help knowin'? She ain't no fool.
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