“Gone to see a friend is all right, but I won't have my love given to them.” “Well, then, it sha'n't be.”  It was well enough to tell _her_ so--no harm in it.  It was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it's the little things that smooths people's roads the most, down here below; it would make Mary Jane comfortable, and it wouldn't cost nothing.  Then I says: “There's one more thing--that bag of money.” “Well, they've got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think _how_ they got it.” “No, you're out, there.  They hain't got it.” “Why, who's got it?” “I wish I knowed, but I don't.  I _had_ it, because I stole it from them; and I stole it to give to you; and I know where I hid it, but I'm afraid it ain't there no more.  I'm awful sorry, Miss Mary Jane, I'm just as sorry as I can be; but I done the best I could; I did honest.  I come nigh getting caught, and I had to shove it into the first place I come to, and run--and it warn't a good place.” “Oh, stop blaming yourself--it's too bad to do it, and I won't allow it--you couldn't help it; it wasn't your fault.  Where did you hide it?” I didn't want to set her to thinking about her troubles again; and I couldn't seem to get my mouth to tell her what would make her see that corpse laying in the coffin with that bag of money on his stomach.  So for a minute I didn't say nothing; then I says: “I'd ruther not _tell_ you where I put it, Miss Mary Jane, if you don't mind letting me off; but I'll write it for you on a piece of paper, and you can read it along the road to Mr. Lothrop's, if you want to.  Do you reckon that 'll do?” “Oh, yes.” So I wrote: “I put it in the coffin.  It was in there when you was crying there, away in the night.  I was behind the door, and I was mighty sorry for you, Miss Mary Jane.” It made my eyes water a little to remember her crying there all by herself in the night, and them devils laying there right under her own roof, shaming her and robbing her; and when I folde