ity, Tom
Connor leads us all. In fact, he is in a class by himself:--There is no
Tom but Tom, and"--smiling at the little messenger--"Seth Appleby is his
prophet--on this occasion."

At which Seth opened his eyes, wondering what on earth my father was
talking about.

"Now, I'll tell you what we'll do," the latter continued. "Seth says his
mother wants another thousand pounds of potatoes; so you shall take
them up this afternoon, Phil; have a good talk with her; find out the
rights of this matter; and then, if there is anything we can do to help,
we can do it understandingly."

I was very glad to do this, and with Seth on the seat beside me and his
pony tied behind the wagon, away I went.

As I had permission to stay in town over night if I liked, and as Mrs.
Appleby urged me to do so, saying that I could share Seth's room, I
decided to accept her offer, and after supper we were seated in the
store talking over Tom Connor's affairs--which I found to be just about
as Seth had described them--when who should burst in upon us but Tom
himself. Evidently my presence was a surprise to him, for on seeing me
he exclaimed:

"Hallo, Phil! You here! Got my message, did you?"

"Yes," I replied, "we got it all right; and very much astonished we
were."

Forthwith I tackled him on the subject, and though at first Tom was
disposed to be evasive in his answers, finding that I had all the facts,
he at length admitted the truth of the story.

"But, bless you!" cried he. "That's nothing. I can raise a hundred and
fifty easy enough on my house and pay it off again next winter, so
there's nothing to fuss about. And now, ma'am," turning to Mrs. Appleby,
and abruptly cutting off any further discussion of the topic, "now,
ma'am, I'll give you a little order for groceries, if you please--which
was what I came in for."

So saying, he took a scrap of paper out of his pocket and proceeded to
read out item after item: flour and bacon, molasses and dried apples, a
little tea and a great deal of coffee, and so on, and so on, until at
last he crumpled up his list between his two big hands, saying:

"There! And we'll top off with a gallon of coal oil, if you please."

"Ah," said the widow, laying down her pencil--she was a slight, nervous
little woman--"I was afraid you'd come to coal oil presently. I haven't
a pint of it in the house."

"Well, that's a pity," said her customer. "Then I suppose I'll have to
go down to Yetmore's for coal o