The next week Squire Turner started for Milwaukie. He did not mention this as his destination in the village, but stated that he had business in Chicago and beyond, not caring to excite any suspicions in Vernon, which was just large enough for everybody to feel interested in everybody else’s affairs. But in reality he stopped in Chicago only long enough to take dinner, and then hurried on to Milwaukie, where he proceeded at once to the office of Mr. Robinson.

“I am glad to see you, Squire Turner,” said the lawyer, rising from the table at which he was seated; “the fact is, I was just thinking over your business.”

“Well, what is the prospect?” asked Squire Turner.

“Excellent. The parties at first were disposed to bluff me off, and pooh-pooh our claims; but they have probably taken legal advice, and have changed their tune in consequence.”

“Do they propose anything?”

“Yes; they offer five thousand dollars for the surrender of the land warrant, which will insure them a perfect title.”

“Five thousand dollars!” repeated Squire Turner, slowly. “Of course, that is a good sum compared with the original value of the warrant; but—”

“Small when the present value of the land is considered. Precisely so.”

“What, then, would you advise?”

“I would advise you to hold off for more. You are not in a hurry, I suppose?”

“Not if you think it will pay to wait.”

“I do think so. If you are firm, it will argue a consciousness of strength, which will produce an impression on their minds.”

“How much do you think I ought to get?”

“Not less than ten thousand dollars.”

“Is there a chance of their coming up to that figure?”

“Yes.”

“I should prefer friendly compromise to initiating legal proceedings, even if I get less.”

Squire Turner had two reasons for this preference. First, he knew well enough the delays of the law, and that years might pass before the matter could be settled, if once the law should be appealed to. But, more than this, such a course would produce more or less publicity, and Mrs. Raymond might hear of it, which was very far from his wishes. But a compromise could be effected without any public mention of the affair, and this would be safer and more speedy.

“By the way, Turner, are you personally interested in this matter?” asked the lawyer.

“Yes,” said the squire. “The claimant is a friend of mine, and I have advanced money on it, considering it a fair security. If she loses, I also become a loser.”

This was not true, except indirectly, for, as the reader knows, Squire Turner could only lose by being obliged to forego his purpose of marriage.

“You have—excuse my inquiring—authority to act in the matter?”

“Yes; I will exhibit it.”

The squire drew out the document to which he had obtained Mrs. Raymond’s signature, as described in the preceding chapter. Mr. Robinson glanced at it.

“Quite correct,” he said. “Well, then, what shall we decide?”

“Stand out for ten thousand dollars,” said the squire. “I don’t mind a few months’ delay. In fact, for some reasons, the delay will be satisfactory to me.”

“If such are your views, we shall probably gain our point,” said Mr. Robinson. “It will take some time to bring up the parties to the point, but in six months I think it can be effected, if we stand firm. Will six months be too long?”

“Not at all. We will stand firm.”

The conversation now touched upon matters of detail, on which we need not enter. It is enough to say that Mr. Robinson and his client agreed upon the policy advisable to be pursued, and the former agreed to keep the latter constantly apprised of the progress of the negotiation.

I must stop here to explain why it was that Squire Turner was in no hurry to bring the matter to a conclusion. Nine months only had passed since Mr. Raymond’s death, and an offer of marriage on his part to Mrs. Raymond would, he felt, be considered premature, and be very probably declined. Now, if the matter were settled at once in favor of Mrs. Raymond, she was liable at any time to be made aware of it in some unforeseen way, and, if thus made pecuniarily independent, the squire felt that she would prefer not to contract a second marriage. He counted upon obtaining her consent for the sake of her child, whom he could support in comfort and afford more advantages, which otherwise the mother would be quite unable to provide. It therefore suited his purposes better that the matter should be protracted for, say six months, when a sufficient time would have elapsed, since Mr. Raymond’s death, to make his proposal proper.

Squire Turner returned from his western trip, and, of course, took an early opportunity to call on Mrs. Raymond.

“Did you have a pleasant journey?” asked the widow.

“Very. By the way, I stopped at Milwaukie on my return.”

“Did you hear anything of the warrant?”

“Yes; I find there is a chance of realizing seventy-five or a hundred dollars from it. It is not much, to be sure—”

“It will be a good deal to me. You are certainly very kind, Squire Turner. You must deduct any expenses which you have incurred about it.”

“I couldn’t think of it, Mrs. Raymond,” said the squire, in a cordial manner. “It is a pleasure to me to serve my friends.”

“How much I have misjudged Squire Turner in times past!” thought Mrs. Raymond, and she thanked him again.

Two months later Squire Turner received a letter from the Milwaukie lawyer, in which he stated that the parties had increased their offer to seven thousand dollars.

“Shall I accept it for you?” he asked.

Squire Turner replied that the offer was not satisfactory, and that the negotiation must proceed. He was in no particular hurry, he said.

A month later the offer was increased to eight thousand dollars.

“Tell them,” he wrote, “that we will take a month to consider their offer. I am not in haste, as I before wrote, and am resolved not to accept any sum short of ten thousand dollars. Still it won’t do any harm to appear to consider their offer.”

So negotiations continued until the six months had nearly passed. It seemed pretty clear now that Squire Turner’s ultimatum would shortly be accepted, nine thousand dollars having been already offered. Mr. Robinson advised his client to come out to Milwaukie, feeling confident that, if he were personally present, the matter could be satisfactorily arranged on his own terms. To this the squire was not averse; but first he wished to see what were his chances of success with the widow.

Accordingly, he dressed himself with more than usual care, one evening, and walked round to the house of Mrs. Raymond. He had become such a frequent visitor there, of late, that his visits never excited surprise.

He was received with the usual welcome. Mrs. Raymond ushered him into the sitting-room, where she had been sitting with little Katy. Katy was reading a book which she had taken from the Sunday school library. Squire Turner looked at her and hesitated, for he did not care to have the little girl present when he made his proposal.

“Have you heard anything from Milwaukie, Squire Turner?” asked the widow.

“Not very recently. I don’t doubt, however, that matters will turn out favorably. In fact, I am so confident, that I am quite willing to advance you fifty dollars on the warrant.”

“Thank you, Squire Turner; but just at present I have a little money on hand. I am glad you think I shall get it.”

“I feel sure of it.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then he proceeded: “There is a matter about which I would like to speak to you alone, Mrs. Raymond, if you would be willing to send Katy out of the room for a few minutes.”

“Certainly. Katy, you may go upstairs for a little while.”

Katy left the room, and Squire Turner found himself alone with the widow. He drew his chair a little nearer and commenced:—

“I am about to make you a proposal, Mrs. Raymond, which I think will be mutually advantageous, and I hope you will regard it in that light. I have had it in view for some time, but felt delicate about introducing the subject before. I hope you regard me as a friend.”

“Indeed, you have been a true friend to me, Squire Turner.”

“I have tried to be,” said the squire, modestly. “But I will not waste time, but at once make my proposal. You have lost your husband, I my wife. I need some one to superintend my house, and look after my son, while you need a protector who is able to give you a good home. Will you be my wife?”

“Indeed, Squire Turner,” said Mrs. Raymond, startled, “I never anticipated that your proposal would be of such a character.”

“And yet, why should you be surprised? Need I recall that time, years since, when we were both younger, and I made the same offer? You see my attachment is no new thing. You preferred another, but he has been taken from you.”

“I thank you very much for your kind offer,” said Mrs. Raymond, “but I have never thought of marrying again since husband’s death. I do not think it would be right.”

“Such marriages take place continually.”

“I know they do; but all do not feel as I do.”

“I think your late husband would favor it. Think of your dependent condition. You have hard work to earn a poor living, and when the four hundred dollars which remain to you are gone, you will indeed be in a different position.”

“That is true.”

“Consider, on the other hand, that I could give you a good home at once, and relieve you from all pecuniary anxiety. Your little Katy needs better advantages than you can give her. She seems to have a taste for music. I should have her at once commence lessons on the piano, and would take care that she should receive as good an education as money could procure. For her sake, Mrs. Raymond, I hope you will reconsider your decision.”

Mrs. Raymond had often lamented her inability to have Katy properly educated, and the squire could have used no argument more potent.

“If I thought it would be right,” said the widow, hesitatingly.

“Think what a difference it will make in Katy half a dozen years hence. Of course, if I am personally disagreeable to you—”

“No, no, my kind friend; do not think that,” said Mrs. Raymond, hastily. “But I do not know what to say. The proposal is so new and unexpected that I cannot make up my mind at once what it is right for me to do.”

“I will not ask you to decide at once. Take three days for it, and if you have any friend whom you trust, ask that friend’s advice. Will you do so?”

“Yes,” said the widow, “I will do as you advise. I will think over your proposal, and I will try to decide in three days’ time.”

“Then I will call on Tuesday to receive your decision. Let me hope it will be favorable.”

Squire Turner left the cottage in a satisfied frame of mind. He felt sure that for Katy’s sake Mrs. Raymond would accept him.