Mrs. Brackett took the earliest opportunity of informing her husband of the way in which Andy had abused poor Tommy, but he did not enter wholly into her feeling of resentment, not being quite so blind to the faults of his oldest cherub as Tommy’s mother.

He was still more disinclined to move in the matter when he learned that his father-in-law had taken Andy’s part.

“We’ve got to move slow, wife,” he said, cautiously. “We don’t want to stir up the old man.”

“Father ought to be ashamed to turn against his own grandson,” said Mrs. Brackett, indignantly.

“If we come to that, Tommy isn’t exactly Mr. Dodge’s grandson.”

“Well, it’s the same thing,” persisted his wife. “He seems to think more of this new boy than of poor Tommy.”

“It won’t do to make a fuss about it, Lucindy. We must be patient, and humor the old man. He’s seventy-five years old, and can’t live much longer.”

“That’s what you’ve been saying for the last five years,” grumbled Mrs. Brackett. “I don’t see, for my part, but he’s likely to live till you and I are in our graves.”

“Not as bad as that, Lucindy. I’m getting a little anxious to have him make a will. I don’t want him to die till he’s left the property to us, safe and sure.”

“It would go to us anyway, wouldn’t it, Jeremiah?”

“It ought to, but there’s those Eastern relations. They might claim it.”

“That would be shameful!” said Mrs. Brackett, warmly.

“So it would—so it would, Lucindy. I’ll tell you what, I’ll speak to the old man about it this very day.”

“I wish you would.”

“So you see we’d better not irritate him by scolding Henry.”

“I suppose you’re right, Jeremiah,” assented Mrs. Brackett, reluctantly; “but I was in hopes you would give him a good flogging.”

“It wouldn’t be politic, Lucindy, just at this time.”

“Is he going to abuse my poor darling without anybody’s interfering?” demanded Mrs. Brackett, discontentedly.

“No. I’ll speak to him about it.”

Accordingly, Mr. Brackett sought out Andy, and said:

“Henry, I hear there was some trouble this morning between you and Tommy.”

“Yes, sir. Did Mrs. Brackett tell you about it?”

“Yes. She is very angry.”

“I think I have more reason to be angry, sir.”

“She says you dragged him into the house by the collar, and afterward threw water in his face.”

“Did she tell you what Tommy did to me?” asked Andy.

“She said he was rather playful, and that you got mad.”

“He playfully fired stones at my head,” said Andy. “If he had hit me I should have been severely hurt. I don’t like that kind of playfulness.”

“I know he is a mischievous boy. Still, you should remember that he is a little boy, much younger and smaller than you are.”

“So I did, and for that reason I wouldn’t hurt him. I don’t think,” continued Andy, “I could make up my mind to hurt a little boy. But I can’t let him fire stones at me.”

“I guess there has been no harm done, but you must try not to provoke Mrs. Brackett. She can’t see any fault in Tommy, though I am not so blind.”

“I certainly shall let him alone if he will let me alone, and I won’t hurt him, at any rate. I will only defend myself if he tries to play any tricks on me.”

Mr. Brackett seemed to be satisfied, and Andy was disposed to think favorably of him, not being aware that he was moderate and reasonable because he did not think it politic to be otherwise.

Just at this moment Mr. Dodge came out of the house, and Mr. Brackett decided to attack him on the subject of the will.

“How do you feel, father?” he inquired.

“Very well, thank you, Jeremiah,” said Mr. Dodge, rather surprised at his son-in-law’s solicitude.

“You are remarkably well for a man of your age, as I was remarking ta Lucindy yesterday. By the way, how old are you, father?”

“Seventy-five years last birthday,” answered the old man, “but I don’t feel any older than I did fifteen years ago.”

“Just so! Still, you are older; but I suppose you’ve fixed things so you’ve no worldly anxieties?”

“I think I’ve got enough to carry me through, Jeremiah.”

“Of course you have, father; and more, too. You can’t begin to spend your income?”

This was said in an inquiring tone, but the old gentleman did not make any reply.

“It’s only prudent to make your will, father, for, of course, a man of your age may be cut off sudden. Death comes like a thief in the night,” added Mr. Brackett, utilizing one of the few passages of Scripture with which he happened to be acquainted.

“I dare say you are right, Jeremiah,” said Mr. Dodge, with a smile.

“You mustn’t think I am anxious on my own account,” said Mr. Brackett. “Of course, money’s a consideration to me, and I’m willing to have you fix things as you think best. But don’t you think you would feel better if you had things all fixed straight and sure on paper?”

“Perhaps you are right, Mr. Brackett,” said his father-in-law, with the same provoking smile, which Mr. Brackett was utterly unable to understand.

“I feel kinder delicate about speaking of it,” pursued Mr. Brackett, “but I thought I ought to do it. Folks are so apt to put off the important duty to the last.”

“By the way, Jeremiah, have you made your will?” asked the old man.

“I?” ejaculated Mr. Brackett, in surprise.

“Yes.”

“No; I can’t say I have.”

“You’d better think of it. You’re not as old as I am, but men younger than you die every day.”

“You don’t think I’m looking poorly, do you?” queried Mr. Brackett, nervously.

“Oh, no! And I hope I am not. Still, you may die before me.”

“That’s so, of course; but it ain’t hardly likely.”

“No; I hope you won’t. I hope you will live to be as old as I am.”

“I’ll tell you what, father,” said Brackett, cunningly, “I’ll make my will if you make yours.”

“I’ll think of it, Jeremiah,” said Mr. Dodge, politely.

“Confound the old man! I can’t get anything out of him,” said Brackett to himself. “I think he teases me on purpose. The idea of thinking he doesn’t need to make a will because I don’t! One thing’s pretty certain, though—he hasn’t made his will yet. If he should die without one, I will prevent them Eastern relations from hearing of it, if I can. I ought to have that property—and I mean to.”

Mr. Dodge smiled to himself when his son-in-law left him.

“Mr. Brackett thinks he is shrewd,” he said to himself, “but his shrewdness and cunning are of a very transparent character. What would he say if he knew that I have already made my will, and that his name is not mentioned in it? What would he say if he knew that my chief heir is at present in his employ, working for fifty cents a week? I suspect there would be a storm—in fact, a hurricane.

“Henry,” said the old man, to our hero, “has Mr. Brackett spoken to you about your little trouble with Tommy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was he angry?”

“No, he spoke very reasonably. I have no fault to find with what he said.”

“He isn’t quite such a fool as his wife, nor is he as ill-tempered. If I had given the Bracketts all my property, reserving none to myself, I should be in a bad position. Fortunately I was saved from such folly.”

“It strikes me,” reflected Mrs. Brackett, looking out of the kitchen window, “that father’s pretty thick with that boy of ours. If I had my way, I’d send him packing. He’s a low, artful boy, and if I were Mr. Brackett, I would send him off, if I had to do his work myself.”

Jeremiah Brackett, however, was by no means of his wife’s opinion. He appreciated the fact that Henry Miller—to use the name by which he knew him—was more faithful and a more steady worker than any of his predecessors, and he did not mean to part with him for any light cause, his wife’s prejudices to the contrary, notwithstanding.

Half an hour later, Andy was destined to a considerable surprise.