Mr. Brackett, a loose-jointed, shambling figure of a man, was leaning against the well curb, smoking a pipe, when his wife appeared at the back door and called out:

“Jeremiah!”

“What’s wanted?” asked Brackett, impatiently.

“I want some firewood, right off!”

“You’re always wanting firewood!” grumbled her husband.

“I should like to know how you expect me to cook your supper without wood to burn,” retorted Mrs. Brackett.

“Send out Tom for some.”

Tom was the eldest of Mr. Brackett’s children, and had now attained the age of eight years.

“So I have; and he says there isn’t any split,” said Mrs. Brackett. “Just fly around and saw and split some, or I shall have the fire out.”

Mr. Brackett took the pipe from his mouth and sauntered toward the wood pile in a very discontented frame of mind.

“My wife burns a sight of wood,” he said to himself. “It’s saw and split all the time. That’s where I miss Peter. The lazy little vagabond, to leave me this morning, and now I’ve to do his work and my own, too.”

Peter might be a lazy little vagabond, but the work he did was certainly more than fell to the lot of his employer, though he had worked for almost nothing.

The fact was, Mr. Brackett was a lazy man, and considered that in superintending others he was doing all that could be expected of him.

Peter had milked three of the six cows, foddered them, cleaned out the stalls, sawed and split the wood, and done the numberless chores Mrs. Brackett found for him, besides doing a share of the farm work.

At times during the year, Mr. Brackett hired a man by the day, but generally had a quarrel with him when pay day came, being as mean as he was lazy.

Jeremiah Brackett began to ply the saw and ax, knowing that his supper depended upon it, and soon little Tommy was able to carry in an armful to his mother.

He sawed a little more, and then resumed his smoking.

“It’s slave, slave all the time!” he muttered. “The old man might help me a little, now that I’ve lost Peter—but no, he’s too much of a gentleman. He must take his cane and walk off for pleasure. I wish I had nothing else to do but to walk for pleasure.”

It would have occurred to any one else that at the age of seventy-five a man might have been allowed to rest, particularly when his life up to seventy had been spent in active duty; but Mr. Brackett was intensely selfish and grudged his father-in-law his well-earned leisure.

He never seemed to think of the rich and productive farm, worth fully ten thousand dollars, which he had received from Mr. Dodge, and was disposed to think that in giving the old gentleman a room for it in his own house, with fare at a very meager table, he was really making a hard bargain.

“If the old man would only give me two thousand dollars in money,” he reflected, “it would make me easy. Of course, it’s coming to me some time—there isn’t anybody else that has any claim—but it looks as if he meant to live forever.”

Mr. Brackett did not, however, feel quite so sure of the personal property as he wished. He knew that Mr. Dodge had relations in Hamilton, and it was the fear of his life that they would inherit the coveted stocks and bonds.

He was somewhat reassured, however, by the knowledge that his father-in-law never appeared to write or receive a letter.

Of the letter which had been received by Mrs. Gordon, and led to the journey of our young hero, he knew nothing. It would have occasioned him a great amount of uneasiness if he had heard anything of it.

He was still smoking when Simon Dodge, fresh from his interview with Andy, entered the yard.

“Been out walking, father?” asked Brackett.

He was careful never to let the old man forget the relationship which existed between them, though, in truth, there was no relationship at all.

“Yes, Jeremiah, I must take a little exercise, so as not to get stiff in the joints.”

“I have plenty of exercise at home,” grumbled Brackett. “I have had to attend to all Peter’s chores, in addition to my own work.”

“Oh, well, you’ll get another boy soon,” said old Simon, cheerfully.

“I hope so, for I don’t want to get worn out. When a man has a wife and children to support, he’s got a tough job before him.”

“Not when he’s got a good farm like this,” said Mr. Dodge.

“There ain’t any money to be made by farming,” muttered Brackett.

“That wasn’t my experience,” said Mr. Dodge. “When I was twenty-five I inherited this farm from my father; but there was a debt of three thousand dollars on it, which I was to pay my brother for his share. I hadn’t a cent outside. Well, I worked hard, and I waited patiently, and in time I paid off the mortgage I put on it to pay my brother, and when I gave it up to you, it was in good condition and well stocked. You started a good deal better off than I did.”

“Some folks have more luck than others,” said Brackett.

“If there was any difference in luck,” said the old man, dryly, “it was in your favor. It’s labor more than luck that counts in this world, according to my thinking.”

“You didn’t have four children to support, father.”

“I had three, and while only one lived to grow up, the other two lived to be older than any of yours.”

“I don’t know how it is,” said Brackett, “but I’m always hard up. The children ought to have new clothes, but where I am to get the money I don’t know.”

Mr. Dodge did not offer to tell Mr. Brackett where it was to be got, but he could have done so.

Mrs. Brackett had five hundred dollars in a savings-bank, which, in spite of his laziness, Brackett, with her help, had been able to save.

The two had decided that Mr. Dodge was on no account to know anything of this, as it might prevent his doing anything for them; but the old man had learned it indirectly; and the knowledge helped him to remain deaf to their application for assistance. So, when they pleaded poverty, he remained politely silent.

“Father,” said Brackett, “will you lend me fifty dollars for six weeks, till I’ve had a chance to sell some of my grain?”

Mr. Dodge knew very well from repeated experience that there wasn’t one chance in ten of any such loan being repaid to him. In fact, Brackett owed him, in the aggregate, nearly a thousand dollars, borrowed on just such conditions—to be repaid in six weeks.

“I think you must excuse me, Jeremiah,” said Simon Dodge, quietly.

“It would set me on my feet,” said Brackett.

As he leaned against the well curb in a languid attitude, it really seemed as if he needed somebody or something to set him on his feet.

“I think you will have to look for the money somewhere else,” replied his father-in-law.

“I thought you was having some interest coming in at this time, father.”

“Jeremiah, I gave you the farm, and with good management, you never need to borrow. It ought to support you handsomely, as it did me. I have told you that more than once.”

Simon Dodge left his son-in-law, and entered the house.

“How the old miser hangs on to his money!” growled Brackett. “He’s getting more and more selfish and mean as he grows older. I wish he’d make his will. If he should die now, I’m afraid them Eastern relatives would be after the property.”

Just then, however, his attention was drawn to a boy, with a bundle under his arm, who was entering the gate. It was Andy.