miserable. It does; I can see that it does. Now, put those bags in my
hands. For a minute, try; it will do you good. Attend to me; it will.
Or, let me have them. They are poison to you. You don't want them."

"I don't," cried Anthony. "Upon my soul, I don't. I don't want 'em.
I'd give--it is true, my dear, I don't want 'em. They're poison."

"They're poison to you," said Rhoda; "they're health, they're life to me.
I said, 'My uncle Anthony will help me. He is not--I know his heart--he
is not a miser.' Are you a miser, uncle?"

Her hand was on one of his bags. It was strenuously withheld: but while
she continued speaking, reiterating the word "miser," the hold relaxed.
She caught the heavy bag away, startled by its weight.

He perceived the effect produced on her, and cried; "Aha! and I've been
carrying two of 'em--two!"

Rhoda panted in her excitement.

"Now, give it up," said he. She returned it. He got it against his
breast joylessly, and then bade her to try the weight of the two. She
did try them, and Anthony doated on the wonder of her face.

"Uncle, see what riches do! You fear everybody--you think there is no
secure place--you have more? Do you carry about all your money?"

"No," he chuckled at her astonishment. "I've...Yes. I've got more of my
own." Her widened eyes intoxicated him. "More. I've saved. I've put
by. Say, I'm an old sinner. What'd th' old farmer say now? Do you love