I seen a way to git ten thousand more. Here
she be. Count it.... I don't guess there's any way this here money could
be put to better use."

"F'r us? Ten thousand--"

"I'll handle it f'r you. Give you int'rest of six hunderd a year. You
kin marry like you planned, and if your childern objects you kin tell
'em to go to blazes.... You'll want a place to live. Wa-al, I got twenty
acre back of town and a leetle house and furniture. Took it on a deal.
You kin move in and work it on shares. Ought to be able to live blamed
well."

Grandmother Penny was crying.

"You done all this f'r us, f'r James and me! There hain't no reason f'r
it. 'Tain't believable.... There hain't no way to say thankee."

"I hain't wantin' you to say thankee, Grandmother Penny. Jest mog along
and marry this old coot, and git what joy you kin out of livin'."

Mr. Spackles was inquisitive in addition to being grateful.

"What I want to know," he demanded, "is how you managed it?"

"Oh," said Scattergood, "jest made use of the sayin' about curin' with
the hair of the dog that bit you. Figgered a swindler wouldn't never
suspect nobody of swindlin' him with one of his own tricks. This here
Mr. Baxter, or Mr. Bowman, or whatever his name is, used to make a
livin' sellin' gold bricks. When I found that there fact out I jest
calc'lated he was ripe to do a mite of gold-brick buyin' himself....
Which he done."

"Scattergood," said Grandmother Penny, "I'm a-goin' to kiss you."

Scattergood presented his cheek, and Grandmother Penny threw her arms
around his neck and pressed her lips to his weather-beaten face. He
smiled, but as if he were smiling at somebody not present. When they had
gone their way to find marriage license and parson he went out on to his
piazza and looked up at the moonlit sky.

"Grandma Baines," he said, after a moment, "if you kin see down from
where you be, I hope you hain't missin' that I done this f'r you. I was
pertendin' all the time that you was Grandmother Penny...."

CHAPTER VIII

HE DIPS IN HIS SPOON

Scattergood Baines sat on the piazza of his hardware store and twiddled
his bare toes reflectively. He was not thinking of to-day nor of
to-morrow, but of days a score of years distant and of plans not to come
to maturity for twenty years. That was Scattergood's way. From his
history, as it is to be gathered from the ancient gossips of Coldriver,
one is forced to the conclusion that few of his acts were performed