"They appreciate me fast enough," returned Terry, imperturbably. "I promised Polly to spend my first vacation with 'em after they're married—Oh, you'll see; I'll make a farmer one of these days!"
I laughed and then said seriously:
"Whether you made the marriage or not, you have cleared Radnor's name from any suspicion of dishonor, and I don't know how we can ever sufficiently show our gratitude."
"That's all right," said Terry with a deprecatory wave of his hand. "I enjoyed it.
Never did anything just like it before.
I've arranged a good many funerals of one sort or another, but this is the first time I ever arranged a marriage.
And Jove! but I could make a story out of it," he added regretfully, "if she'd only let me tell the truth."
The events which I have chronicled happened a number of years ago, and Four-Pools has never since figured in the papers.
I trust that its public life is ended.
In spite of the most far-reaching search, the murderer of Colonel Gaylord was never found.
Radnor and I have always believed that he was lynched by a mob in West Virginia some two years later.
The description of the man tallied exactly with the appearance of the tramp my uncle had thrashed, and something he said in his ante-mortem statement, made us very sure of the fact.
Mose, until the time of his death, was an honored member of the household, but he did not long outlive the Colonel.
The memory of the tragedy he had witnessed seemed to follow him constantly; an unreasoning terror looked from his eyes, and he started and shivered at every sound.
The poor fellow had lost what few wits he had ever possessed, but the one rational gleam that stayed with him to the end, was his love for his old master.
When he lay dying. Radnor tells me, he roused after hours of unconsciousness, to call the Colonel's name.
I have always felt that this devotion spoke equally well for both of them.
The old man must have had some splendid traits underneath his crusty exterior to awaken such unquestioning love in a person of Mose's instinctive perceptions.
Perhaps after all, half idiot though he was, Mose could see clearer than the rest of us.
He now lies in the little family burying-ground on the edge of the plantation, a stone's throw from the grave of Colonel Gaylord.
There has never been any further rumor of a ha'nt at Four-Pools, and we hope that the family ghost is laid forever.
The deserted cabins have been torn down, and the fourth pool dredged and confined, prosaically enough, within its banks.
Its mysterious charm is gone, but it yields, every season, some fifteen barrels of watercress.
It was the following April—a year from the time of my first visit—that Terry and I snatched a couple of days from our work, purchased new frock coats, and served as ushers at Polly's wedding.
She and Radnor have been living happily at Four-Pools ever since, and the house with a young mistress is a very different place from the house as it used to be.
Marriage and responsibility have improved Radnor immensely.
He has developed from a recklessly headstrong boy into a keen, rational, upright man; I am sure that Polly has never for a moment had cause to regret her choice.
When the estate was settled, Radnor, very justly, insisted on breaking his father's will and giving to Jeff his rightful share of the property.
Jeff has since become middle-aged and respectable.
He owns a raisin ranch in southern California with fifty Chinamen to run it.
When he comes back to Four-Pools Plantation on an occasional visit, he occupies the guest room.