"Heyday!" said Mrs. Meredith, entering, "what 's the
cause of all this hurly-burly?"

"Enuf cause, an' ter spare," howled Hennion. "Here
this--" once more the title is left blank for propriety's sake--
"hez beguiled poor Phil inter goin' on some fool errand ter
Boston, an' the feller knew so well I would n't hev it thet all he
dun wuz ter write me a line, tellin' how this--insisted he
should go, an' thet he'd started. 'Twixt yer whiffet of a gal an'
yer old--of a husband, yer've bewitched all the sense the
feller ever hed in his noddle, durn yer!"

"Let him talk," jeered the squire. "'T will not bring Phil
back. What's more, I'll make him smile the other side of his
teeth before I've done with him. Harkee, man, I've a rod in
pickle that will make ye cry small." The squire took a bundle of
papers from an iron box and flourished them under Hennion s
nose "There are assignments of every mortgage ye owe, ye
old fox, and pay day 's coming."

"Let it," sneered the owner of Boxely. "Yer think I
did n't know, I s'pose? Waal, thet 's wheer yer aout. Phil,
he looked so daown in the maouth just afore yer went ter
York thet I knew theer must be somethin' ter make him act so
pukish, an' I feels araound a bit, an' as he ain't the best hand
at deceivin' I hez the fac's in no time. An' as I could n't hev
them 'ere mortgages in better hands, I tell 'd him ter go ahead
an' help yer all he could. 'T was I gave him the list of them
I owed."