ares just as well as the other one did. Of course, I don't know
how you fed her."

"She allers had her fill when she was with me. Le' me see, how long is
it since I sold her to ye?"

Though the squire apparently asked for information, he knew the time to
a day and was not likely to forget.

"It's between four and five months, I believe."

"Jus'so. You was to be ready to pay up at the end of six months."

"That was the agreement."

"You'd better be a-savin' up for it."

"There isn't much chance of my saving. It's all I can do to make both
ends meet."

"You don't say so," said the squire, secretly pleased.

"My farm is small and poor, and doesn't yield much."

"But you work out, don't you?"

"When I get a chance. You don't want any help, do you, squire? I might
work off part of the debt that way."

"Mebbe next spring I'd like some help."

"That will be too late to meet my note, unless you'll renew."

"I'll see about it," said the squire, evasively. "What do you hear from
that boy of yours? Is he doin' well?"

"He's at work in a shoe shop."

"Does it pay well?"

"He doesn't get much just at first."

"Then he won't be able to pay for the cow," thought the squire. "That's
what I wanted to know."

"He'd better have gone to work for me," he said

"No, I think he will do better away from home. He will get a good trade
that he can fall back upon hereafter, even if he follows some other
business."

"Wal, I never learned no trade but I've got along middlin' well," said
the squire, in a complacent tone. "Farmin's good enough for me."

"I would say the same if I had your farm, squire. You wouldn't exchange,
would you?"

"That's a good joke, neighbor Walton. When I make up my mind to do it.
I'll let you know."

"What a mean old curmudgeon he is!" thought Hiram Walton, as he kept
on his way to the village store. "He evidently intends to keep me to my
agreement and will exact the ten dollars in case I can't pay for the cow
at the appointed time. It will be nothing but a robbery."

This was not the day for a letter from Harry but it occurred to Mr.
Walton to call at the post office. Contrary to his anticipations, a
letter was handed him.

"I won't open it till I get home," he said to himself.

"I've got a letter from Harry," he said, as he entered the house.

"A letter from Harry? It isn't his day for writing," said Mrs. Walton.
"What does he say?"

"I haven't opened the letter yet. Here, Tom, open