our eyes on it for the past five years. My husband—he's Robson, the dry-goods dealer, on Third, just below here—was pretty well satisfied that the colonel could n't hang on to it forever. 'Bout three years ago he offered him three thousand. But the old man would n't hear of it. Said he would n't even raise a mortgage on it, as it was all he had to leave to his daughter when he died. But we knew he could n't hold out much longer. He did n't have no work, nor nothing to live on. Miss Reed she made a little, but not enough to run everything, and—"
"Yes—I know all about that. When did you say they left?"
"On Monday, and we moved in Tuesday. Saturday the old man came round to Mr. Robson's place and said he 'd let him have the house for anything he chose to give. There ain't nothing mean about Mr. Robson. He could 'a' beat the colonel down to 'most anything, but he said he 'd give him two thousand cash down, and the old man just jumped at it. Mr. Robson said it would 'a' been business to get the colonel to a lower figure, and he said he supposed he would 'a' done it if it had n't been for the daughter. She was sick, and the old man said he 'd got to have money to take her away."
"Sick?—seriously sick?"
"Well, as to that I can't say. But she was
