always been obliged to work hard for a moderate
compensation, and had not been able to
do much more than support my family. This
it seemed to me, afforded an excellent opportunity
of laying up a little something which
might render me secure in the event of a sudden
attack of sickness. I had but about two
hundred dollars, however, and from so scanty
an investment I could not, of course, expect a
large return; accordingly I went to Squire
Conant; you remember him, Paul?"
"Yes, father."
`I went to him and asked a loan of five hundred
dollars. After some hesitation he agreed
to lend it to me. He was fond of his money
and not much given to lending, but it so happened
that he had invested in the same speculation,
and had a high opinion of it, so he felt
pretty safe in advancing me the money. Well,
this loan gave me seven hundred dollars, with
which I purchased seven shares in the Lake
Superior Grand Combination Mining Company.
For some months afterwards, I felt
like a rich man. I carefully put away my
certificate of stock, looking upon it as the
beginning of a competence. But at the end of six
months the bubble burst--the stock proved to
be utterly worthless,--Squire Conant lost five
thousand dollars. I lost seven hundred, five
hundred being borrowed money. The Squire's
loss was much larger, but mine was the more
serious, since I lost everything and was
plunged into debt, while he had at least forty
thousand dollars left.
"Two days after the explosion, Squire
Conant came into my shop and asked abruptly
when I could pay him the amount I had borrowed.
I told him that I could not fix a time.
I said that I had been overwhelmed by a result
so contrary to my anticipations, but I told
him I would not rest till I had done something
to satisfy his claim. He was always an
unreasonable man, and reproached me bitterly
for sinking his money in a useless speculation,
as if I could foresee how it would end any better
than he."
"Have you ever been able to pay back any
part of the five hundred dollars, father?"
"I have paid the interest regularly, and a
year ago, just before I met with my accident,
I had laid up a hundred and fifty dollars which
I had intended to pay the Squire, but when my
sickness came I felt obliged to retain it to defray
our expenses, being cut off from earning
anything"
"Then I suppose you have not been able to
pay interest for the last year."
"No."
"Have you heard from the Squire lately?"
"Yes, I had a letter only last week. You
remember bringing me one postmarked Cedarville?"
"Yes, I wondered at the time who it could
be from."
"You will find it on the mantelpiece. I
should like to have you get it and read it."
Paul readily found the letter. It was
enclosed in a brown envelope, directed in a bold
hand to "Mr. John Prescott, Wrenville."
The letter was as follows:--
CEDARVILLE, APRIL 15, 18--,
MR. JOHN PRESCOTT:--
SIR: I have been waiting impatiently to hear something
about the five hundred dollars in which sum you are indebted
to me, on account of a loan which I was fool enough to make
you seven years since. I thought you an honest man, but I
have found, to my cost, that I was mistaken. For the last
year you have even failed to pay interest as stipulated between
us. Your intention is evident. I quite understand that you
have made up your mind to defraud me of what is rightfully
mine. I don't know how you may regard this, but I consider
it as bad as highway robbery. I do not hesitate to say that
if you had your deserts you would be in the Penitentiary.
Let me advise you, if you wish to avoid further trouble, to
make no delay in paying a portion of this debt.
Yours, etc.
EZEKIEL CONANT.
Paul's face flushed with indignation as he
read this bitter and cruel letter.
"Does Squire Conant know that you are
sick, father?" he inquired.
"Yes, I wrote him about my accident, telling
him at the same time that I regretted it in
part on account of the interruption which it
must occasion in my payments."
"And knowing this, he wrote such a letter
as that," said Paul, indignantly, "what a hard,
unfeeling wretch he must be!"
"I suppose it is vexatious to him to be kept
out of his money."
"But he has plenty more. He would never
miss it if he had given it to you outright."
"That is not the way to look at it, Paul.
The money is justly his, and it is a great sorrow
to me that I must die without paying it."
"Father," said Paul, after a pause, "will it
be any relief to you, if I promise to pay it,--
that is, if I am ever able?"
Mr. Prescott's face brightened.
"That was what I wanted to ask you, Paul.
It will be a comfort to me to feel thar there is
some hope of the debt being paid at some
future day."
"Then don't let it trouble you any longer,
father. The debt shall be mine, and I will pay
it.
Again a shadow passed over the sick man's
face, "Poor boy," he said, "why should I
burden your young life with such a load? You
will have to struggle hard enough as it is. No,
Paul, recall your promise. I don't want to
purchase comfort at such a price."
"No, father," said Paul sturdily, "it is too
late now. I have made the promise and I mean
to stick to it. Besides, it will give me something
to live for. I am young--I may have a
great many years before me. For thirteen
years you have supported me. It is only right
that I should make what return I can. I'll
keep my promise, father."
"May God help and prosper you, my boy,"
said Mr. Prescott, solemnly. "You've been a
good son; I pray that you may grow up to be a
good man. But, my dear, I feel tired. I think
I will try to go to sleep."
Paul smoothed the comforter, adjusting it
carefully about his father's neck, and going
to the door went out in search of some wood
to place upon the fire. Their scanty stock of
firewood was exhausted, and Paul was obliged
to go into the woods near by, to obtain such
loose fagots as he might find upon the ground.
He was coming back with his load when his
attention was drawn by a whistle. Looking up
he discovered Ben Newcome approaching him.
"How are you, Paul?"
"Pretty well, Ben."
"How precious lonesome you must be,
mewed up in the house all the time."
"Yes, it is lonesome, but I wouldn't mind
that if I thought father would ever get any
better."
"How is he this morning?"
"Pretty low; I expect he is asleep. He said
he was tired just before I went out."
"I brought over something for you," said
Ben, tugging away at his pocket.
Opening a paper he displayed a couple of
apple turnovers fried brown.
"I found 'em in the closet," he said.