Adin Dunham got into the buggy, took the reins from Dean, and drove away.

The pretentious house of Squire Bates stood a little way back from the road a quarter of a mile further on. The lawyer stood in front of his gate. He smiled as Adin Dunham drove by.

"Well, Dunham," he said, "so you are on your way to Rockmount?"

"Yes, squire."

"And bound on a pleasant errand, too," continued Bates, with a second smile.

"Yes, squire. I can't believe it hardly. It's a new experience for me. I never thought I should be worth a thousand dollars."

"Yes, it's quite a sum. What do you propose to do with it?"

"I may pay up the mortgage on my place."

"But suppose I don't want to receive it?"

"But why wouldn't you want to receive it?"

"Oh, it's paying me fairish interest, and I should have to look up another investment."

"But you could do that better than I."

"Come and see me when you get back, and I'll give you advice. I wouldn't trouble myself for every one, but you are a friend and neighbor," said Squire Bates, smiling and showing the long white tusks that gave him so peculiar an appearance.

"Your advice ought to be good, squire. You are used to investin' money."

"Yes, I have a good deal to invest," said Bates. "Which way shall you return?" asked the squire carelessly.

"I thought I might take the creek road, squire."

"If it were my case, I would come through the woods. It's half a mile shorter."

"That's so, and I did think of it, but you and my wife talked to me about robbers, till I began to think the creek road would be safer."

Squire Bates laughed in an amused way.

"I rather think your wife and I talked like old women," he said. "It seems rather ridiculous to think of robbers in this neighborhood."

"So it does!" said Adin Dunham eagerly. "I told Sarah so.

"Then you'll come through the woods?"

"Yes."

"About what time?"

"Oh, I shan't stay very long after my business is done."

"You'll probably pass through about three o'clock?"

"Well, say four. I've got a cousin in Rockmount that I shall take dinner with, and that'll take up part of my time. Then I've got one or two errands to do at the stores there. I'm to buy my wife a pair of shoes at Ingals's store. He knows just what she wants, and always fits her."

"There's one thing I would advise you not to do, neighbor Dunham."

"What is that?"

"Don't invite any one to ride home with you."

"Why not?"

"Well, you'll have considerable money with you and it might prove a temptation even to a respectable man. You see to most people it is a large sum—not to me, for I am better off than the average, but I've read in my law books of a good many crimes that were the result of a sudden impulse. There's no reason to be nervous, but it's well to be prudent, neighbor."

"That's good sense, squire. Thank you for your caution. Well, I must be getting on."

"Good luck to you," said Bates, as he turned and went into the house.

Squire Bates had been for three years a resident of Waterford. He appeared to have plenty of money, though it was a mystery where it came from. He professed to be a lawyer, and had an office, but beyond writing a will or a lease, or some such matter, had no practice to speak of. This, however, did not seem to trouble him. It was a popular belief that the care of his property gave him considerable to do. He had no investments in Waterford except the house he lived in, and a mortgage on the house and small landed property of Adin Dunham. The assessors got very little satisfaction out of him when they questioned him about his taxable property.

"I am taxed elsewhere," he said briefly.

"But you have some personal property?"

"Oh well, you may put me down for a thousand dollars."

"It is generally supposed that you have a much larger personal property than that."

"I have, gentleman," answered Bates frankly, "but you know that government bonds are not taxable."

That explained it. The board of assessors jumped to the conclusion that Squire Bates had a large sum in government bonds, and did not pursue their inquiries further.

There was one thing that puzzled Waterford people about the lawyer. He often absented himself in a mysterious way, sometimes for weeks at a time. He never told where he went, nor did his wife and son when questioned appear to know. At any rate they never gave any information. He would reappear, as suddenly as he had disappeared, and always explain briefly that he had been away on business. What the nature of the business was he did not state, a sensible thing probably, but his reticence excited considerable remark among his fellow-townsmen, who did not approve of it.

When Squire Bates re-entered the house he went up to his room—his library was on the second floor—and locked the door. He sat down in a rocking-chair, and seemed plunged in thought.

"A thousand dollars!" he soliloquized. "It is a good sum of money. It would be a great lift to Adin Dunham. It would enable him to pay off the mortgage on his place, and that would not suit me. I prefer to foreclose by and by. Upon the whole the money will be better in my hands than in his. It was well I suggested to him not to come home by the creek road. That is too open, and would not suit my plans."

Lawyer Bates rose, and, taking a key from his pocket, opened the door of a small closet. It was a clothes closet evidently, but its contents were of a curious character. There was one suit that a fastidious tramp would have scorned to wear. There were several masks. There were disguises of different kinds, three wigs, one red, and false beards. Of what earthly use could these articles be to a respectable country lawyer?

Not even Mrs. Bates had seen the inside of this closet. Once she suggested cleaning it, but the curt refusal with which her proposal was received prevented her making it again.

"I keep my papers in there," said her husband, "and I am not willing that they should be disturbed."

"I would be very careful, Renwick," said Mrs. Bates. "I would attend to it myself."

"You will offend me if you say more, Mrs. Bates," said her husband, looking displeased, and she took the hint.

Mrs. Bates was a pleasant, gentle woman who did not put on airs, and she was much more popular in the village than her husband, whose face had a singularly disagreeable expression, especially when he smiled, for then he showed his long white teeth, which, as Mrs. Dunham expressed it, were like the fangs of a wild beast.

His son Brandon was like his father, even to the teeth. He was a boy of cruel instincts, haughty and imperious, and disposed to lord it over his schoolmates and companions. He was heartily tired of Waterford, and had more than once suggested to his father that it would be wise to leave it.

"When I want your advice, Brandon, I will ask for it," said Squire Bates briefly.

Brandon did not press the matter. He knew his father too well, but he complained to his mother.

"What on earth can father be thinking of to stay in such a quiet hole as Waterford?"

"It is a pleasant village, Brandon," said his mother gently.

"What is there pleasant about it?"

"The people are pleasant."

"I have no fit associates."

"There is Dean Dunham, who is about your age."

"I hate him!" said Brandon passionately.

"Why do you hate him, my son? Mrs. Dunham tells me he is a great comfort to her."

"I don't know anything about that. He is very impudent to me. He seems to think he is my equal."

"I am afraid you are too proud, Brandon."

"Isn't father the richest man in Waterford, I'd like to know? Dean Dunham is the nephew of a poor carpenter, who keeps him out of charity."

"Ah, Brandon, you shouldn't value people for their money."

"Dean Dunham is no fit companion for me. If I were in the city, I should find plenty of associates."

Gentle Mrs Bates sighed. She could not approve of her son's pride.