Several days passed, and Nat's uncle did all in his power to please his new wife. He found her very tart at times, and inclined to have her own way, but she was a good cook and general housekeeper, and that counted for a great deal.

"It won't do to cross her," he told himself. "I've got to find out about thet gold first."

At last he could stand the suspense no longer and so, one day, while at the dinner table, he told the story of a rich find of money by a lady in Philadelphia.

"It was in the weekly paper," said he, "and by the way," he went on, "what about the pot of gold you found?"

"The pot of gold I found?" she repeated, blankly.

"Yes, the one you found in the well. What did you do with it?"

"Why, I never found any pot of gold in a well, Abner! What put that in your head?"

He shoved back his chair in horror, and gazed at her blankly.

"Didn't you tell me you had found a pot of gold in a well, Lucy?" he demanded.

"Never!"

"Certainly, you did. You asked me if you could keep it or if the law could take it from you. I told you the law couldn't touch it."

"Oh, I remember now!" she answered, sweetly. "I read about such a find in a story magazine, and I was wondering if the finder could keep it, or if it would have to be turned over to the person who owned the property on which the well was located. But I certainly never said anything about my finding a pot of gold."

"Well, I'll be jiggered! Didn't you go to the bank an' ask 'em if they would take five thousand dollars?"

"Oh, I was only curious to know how much they would take, that was all, Abner." And she smiled again.

Abner could not endure that smile, and pushing back his chair still further, he arose and left the house. Once in the barn he shook his fist viciously at an imaginary enemy.

"Of all the fools!" he muttered. "I've been tuk in clean an' clear! She ain't got no pot o' gold, an' never did have! If this ain't jest the worst yet. Abner Balberry, you ought to be kicked full o' holes, and ducked in the pond besides!"

He felt in no mental condition to go back to the house, and so did not return until it was time for supper. He found a good meal awaiting him, and his wife on hand as pert as ever.

"What made you run off?" she demanded. "It wasn't a nice way to do."

"You fooled me about thet pot o' gold," he answered, bluntly.

"I never did, and I want you to stop talking about it, Abner Balberry."

This was said so sharply it fairly made him jump.

"Eh?"

"Did you marry me simply for my money?" she demanded, coming up to him with her hands on her hips.

"N—no!" he stammered.

"Well, then, stop talking about a pot o' gold. I haven't any, and neither have you."

"Ain't you got no money o' your own, Lucy?"

"If I have I'm going to keep it to myself," she answered. "Come to supper."

He sat down and ate in silence. The next day he wanted to speak about money again, but she cut him short.

"I don't want to hear about it," she said, tartly. "I'm your wife, and I am going to do my share, keeping house and helping around. And you have got to do your share, and treat me fairly. I once heard that the first Mrs. Balberry didn't get all that was coming to her—that she had to wear the same dress and bonnet for years. Now, I want to say, right now, that isn't my style. When I want a new dress I want it, and you are going to give it to me."

"Am I?" he said, slowly.

"Yes, you are, Abner Balberry, and if I want spending money you have got to give me that, too. If you don't, I'll quit work and won't do a blessed thing around the house. So there!"

She spoke with such vigor that it made him groan. He felt it in his bones that she meant to have her way.

"I am a-goin' to do my duty," he said, humbly.

"You'd better. If you don't——" and she ended with a shake of her head that meant a great deal.

"She's bound to have her way," he told himself later. "I've got to git used to it, I suppose. Drat the luck, anyway. I wish I had never heard o' thet pot o' gold!"

In a roundabout fashion Abner Balberry had heard that Nat had gone to Buffalo, and then he learned through a man who had been to New York that his nephew was in the metropolis. Abner had often longed to visit New York, and here he saw his opportunity to do so.

"I'm a-goin' to New York," he announced one day, shortly after the pot of gold incident.

"What are you going to do there?" asked his wife.

"I'm a-goin' to look fer Nat. I've heard he's down there, an' I want to save him from goin' to destruction."

"Better leave him where he is," said the new wife, who did not fancy another of her husband's people around the farm.

"No, I'm a-goin' to hunt him up. I feel it's my duty to do it."

"Then, if you go to New York, you have got to take me along, Abner."

"Take you along, Lucy?"

"Yes. I've always wanted to go to New York. Fred can take care of the farm while we are gone." Fred and the other Guff children had been installed on the place, but none of them had proved of much assistance. Fred, himself, was decidedly lazy—not half as willing as Nat, so Abner himself admitted.

"I don't see how I can take you, Lucy. It costs a heap to go to New York."

"Well, if you can spend the money on yourself, you can spend it on me, too," she answered, calmly.

"But it's my duty to go—to save Nat from goin' to the dogs."

"You didn't bother about Nat when you were courting me."

"I didn't know where he was, exactly."

"Pooh! Well, if you go you must take me. If you don't, you won't find me or the things when you get back."

This rather alarmed the miserly farmer, and he was half afraid she might sell off all his belongings, and clear out.

"All right, you shall go," he said, at last. "But it's goin' to cost a terrible sight o' money," he added, with a long sigh.

It was decided that they should start for New York on the following Monday morning. Mrs. Balberry had relatives at Rochester, and they made arrangements to stop over at that point for one night, for neither the farmer or his spouse wished to take a berth in a sleeping car.

"It's money thrown away," said Abner, "an', besides, who kin sleep with a car runnin' fifty miles an hour? If there was an accident a feller would be killed before he woke up!"

Mrs. Balberry's son, Fred, grumbled greatly at having to run the farm during their absence, and the mother had to promise the lad fifty cents a day for the extra work.

"It's an outrage," declared Abner, when he heard of this. "He ain't worth his keep!"

"He is my son, and you have no right to abuse him!" declared the new wife, and then the farmer found it best to say no more. He was discovering that his wife had a sharp tongue, and could use it on the slightest provocation.

Not to go to the expense of buying meals on the train, they provided themselves with a basket full of food, and set off bright and early at the time appointed. The run to Rochester was without incident, and Mrs. Balberry's relatives there treated them kindly. Then, on Tuesday, they took another train for New York, and late in the afternoon found themselves at the Grand Central Depot.

"It's a fearfully crowded place," was Abner Balberry's comment, as he gazed around.

"Which way are we to go, Abner?" asked his wife, and now she clung to him, for the bustle and noise frightened her.

"Let's git out on the street, where I kin have a look around," he answered, and pulled her along through the crowd. A boy wanted to take his carpet bag, but he shook the urchin off.

Fortunately, while at Rochester, the farmer had heard of a hotel which I shall call the Callac House, located but a few blocks from the station. A policeman directed the pair to this place, and here Abner Balberry succeeded in getting a room for a dollar and a half a night.

"Steep, ain't it?" he remarked, when he and his wife had been taken to the room, on the seventh floor.

"Steep? I should say it was, Abner—the seventh story! It's dreadful! I know I shan't sleep—thinking of what to do in case of a fire!"

"I meant the price. I don't care how high up it is."

"Will they give us meals for that, too?"

"No, the meals is extry."

"It's 'most a waste of money, I must say."

"Well, I had to pay it, an' so there ain't no use to talk about it. Let's go to bed, an' git our money's worth, an' in the mornin' I'll look fer Nat."