chance to turn a pretty penny," he said, in a tone of gentle
raillery. "Oh, hang it! What do you mean?" demanded Will. "Of
course, I wasn't going back on you like that just to please
grandpa. I'd have been a confounded sneak if I had!" "You're a
jolly good chap and no mistake! But the old man would have been
pleased, I reckon?" Will grinned.

"You bet he would! I could twist him round my finger but for you,
Aunt Saidie says." "It will be all the same in the end, though.
The whole thing will come to you some day." "Oh, yes. Maria got
her share, and Wyndham has made ducks and drakes of it." "Your
grandfather's aging, too, isn't he?"

"Rather," returned Will, with a curious mixture of amiable
lightness and cool brutality. "He's gone off at least twenty
years since that time I had pneumonia in your barn. That wrecked
him, Aunt Saidie says, and all because he knew he'd have to put
up with you when the doctor told him to let me have my way. His
temper gets worse, too, all the time. I declare, he sometimes
makes me wish he were dead and buried." "Oh, he'll live long
enough yet, never fear--those wiry, cross-grained people are as
tough as lightwood knots. It's a pity, though, he wants to bully
you like that--it would kill me in a day." A flush mounted to
Will's forehead. "I knew you'd think so," he said, "and it's what
I tell him all the time. He's got no business meddling with me so
much, and I won't stand it." "He ought to get a dog," suggested
Christopher indifferently. "Well, I'm not a dog, and I'll make
him understand it yet. Oh, you think I'm an awful milksop, of
course, but I'll show you otherwise some day. I'd like to know if
you could have done any better in my place?" "Done! Why, I