"Aren't you afraid turning back so often may spoil your luck?" asked Edwards, laughing.
"Ef you think so, I'll never do it," answered Jim, soberly. "But I'll tell you, onct fur all, who it is shall be my heir if any thing chance me, an' I'll expect you'll act on the squar: that person is Miss Mary Edwards, your own sister, an' you'll not go fur to dispute my will?"
"I've no right to dispute your will, whether I approve of it or not. There will be no proof of it, however, and I could not make over your property to my sister, should there be other heirs with a natural and rightful claim to it. But you are not going to make your will just yet, Harris; so, good-by. You'll be home on Christmas?"
"I reckon I will."
John Edwards turned back to the house, and to banter his sister on Jim Harris's will, while that individual went about the business of his journey. His spirits were in a strange state of half-elation, half-depression. The depression was a natural consequence of the talk about a will, and the elation was the result of a strong and sudden faith which had sprung up in him in the success of his undertaking, and of the achievements of every kind it would render possible.
"She's my 'wishin' fairy,' she said, an' she wished me luck twice. I got the first stroke of it when John Edwards called to me across the field. I've got him strong on that; an' I war a leetle surprised, too. He wanted to make me look sharp, that's clar as mud. I'll look sharp, you bet, John Edwards! Didn't her hand look purty when she wrote her name? I've got her name to look at, any way." And at this stage of his reverie, Jim drew from an inner breast-pocket the bond which Miss Edwards had witnessed, and, after gazing at the signature for a moment with moveless features, gave a shy, hasty glance all round him, and pressed his parched and puckered lips on the paper.
The sentiment which caused this ebullition of emotion in
