.

"When was the last letter received?" asked Mr. Walton, laying down the
paper.

"Over a week ago. He wrote that the professor was sick, and he was
stopping at the hotel to take care of him."

"I remember. What was the name of the place?"

"Pentland."

"Perhaps his employer is recovered, and he is going about with him."

"Perhaps so; but I should think he would write. I am afraid he is sick
himself. He may have caught the same fever."

"It is possible; but I think Harry would let us know in some way. At any
rate, it isn't best to worry ourselves about uncertainties."

"I wonder if Harry's grown?" said Tom.

"Of course he's grown," said Mary.

"I wonder if he's grown as much as I have," said Tom, complacently.

"I don't believe you've grown a bit."

"Yes, I have; if you don't believe it, see how short my pants are."

Tom did, indeed, seem to be growing out of his pants, which were
undeniably too short for him.

"You ought to have some new pants," said his mother, sighing; "but I
don't see where the money is to come from."

"Nor I," said Mr. Walton, soberly. "Somehow I don't seem to get ahead
at all. To-morrow my note for the cow comes due, and I haven't but two
dollars to meet it."

"How large it the note?"

"With six months' interest, it amounts to forty-one dollars and twenty
cents."

"The cow isn't worth that. She doesn't give as much milk as the one we
lost."

"That's true. It was a hard bargain, but I could do no better."

"You say you won't be able to meet the payment. What will be the
consequence?"

"I suppose Squire Green will take back the cow."

"Perhaps you can get another somewhere else, on better terms."

"I am afraid my credit won't be very good. I agreed to forfeit ten
dollars to Squire Green, if I couldn't pay at the end of six months."

"Will he insist on that condition?"

"I am afraid he will. He is a hard man."

"Then," said Mrs. Walton, indignantly, "he won't deserve to prosper."

"Worldly prosperity doesn't always go by merit. Plenty of mean men
prosper."

Before Mrs. Walton had time to reply, a knock was heard at the door.

"Go to the door, Tom," said his father.

Tom obeyed, and shortly reappeared, followed by a small man with a thin
figure and wrinkled face, whose deep-set, crafty eyes peered about him
curiously as he entered the room.

"Good evening, Squire Green," said Mr. Walton, politely, guessing his
errand.

"Good evenin', Mrs. Walton. The air's