"Did your father leave you much?" inquired Deacon Pitkin.

"A few hundred dollars," said Ben carelessly.

"Indeed!" said the deacon, gratified. "What are you goin' to do with
it?"

"Uncle Job thinks it would be best to put it in the bank."

"Jest so. It would fetch you some interest every year-enough to
clothe you, likely. I'll tell you what I'll do, Ben. I'll give you
your board the first year, and your interest will buy your clothes.
The second year I'll give you twenty dollars and board, and maybe
twenty more the third year."

Ben shook his head.

"I guess we can't make a bargain, Deacon Pitkin," he said.

Deacon Pitkin knew that he had made a very mean offer, and felt that
he could afford to increase it somewhat; but he was a close hand at
a bargain, and meant to get Ben as cheap as he could.

"What was you expectin'?" he asked cautiously. "You must remember
that you're only a boy, and can't expect men's wages."

Ben had no idea, as we know, of engaging to work for Deacon Pitkin
at all; but he decided that the easiest way to avoid it was to put
such a value on his services as to frighten the old man.