"Yes: you see they were robbed of every cent they had in the world, and they have not a cent left."
"Oh! no, they were not robbed. Everything was properly done and absolutely regular, as I remember. It must have been. I think there was some sort of claim presented afterward by the Tipps Estate which was turned down. Let me see; McSheen had the claim, and he gave it up—that was when? Let me see. He became counsel for your Uncle Argand in—what year was it?—you were a baby—it must have been eighteen years ago."
"That was nineteen years ago, sir. I am now twenty," said his daughter, sitting up with a very grand air.
The father's eyes lit up with pride and affection as he gazed at the trim, straight figure and the glowing face.
"You were just a little baby—so big." He measured a space of about two span with his hands. "That was your size then, for I know I thought your Uncle Argand might have made me counsel instead of McSheen. But he didn't. And that was McSheen's start."
"He sold out," said the girl with decision.
"Oh, no—I don't think he would do that. He is a lawyer."
"Yes, he would. He's a horrid, old, disreputable rascal. I've always thought it, and now I know it. And I want you to get my old ladies' interest back for them."
"I can't do that. No one can. It's too long ago. If they ever had a claim it's all barred, long ago."
"It oughtn't to be—if it was stolen," persisted his daughter, "and it was."