re than
that?"

"Yes, sir, but he didn't think he could get any more. He said--"

"What did he say?"

"He said that a poor seller was the slave of a rich buyer; but I
think--" Jerome hesitated. He was not used yet to expressing his
independent thought.

"Go on," said the Squire.

"I think it works both ways, and the poor man is the slave either
way, whether he buys or sells," said the boy, half defiantly, half
timidly.

"I guess you're about right," said the Squire, looking at him
curiously. "Ever hear your uncle Ozias Lamb say anything like that?"

"No, sir."

"Thought it yourself, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, let's get to business now," said the Squire. "What you want is
this, if I understand it. You want Doctor Prescott to buy that
wood-lot of your father's for three hundred dollars, or whatever over
that sum he will agree to, and you don't want him to pay you money
down, but give you his note for it, with interest at six per cent.,
for as long a term as he will. You did not say give you a note,
because you did not know about it, but that is what you want."

Jerome nodded soberly. "I know father paid interest at six per cent.,
and it was sixty dollars a year, and I know it would be eighteen
dollars if it was three hundred dollars instead of a thousand. I
figured it out on my slate," he said.

"You are right," said the Squire, gravely. "Now you think that will
bring your interest down to forty-two dollars a year, and maybe you
can manage that; and if you cannot, you think that Doctor Prescott
will pay you cash down for the wood-lot?"

The boy seemed to be engaged in an arithmetical calculation. He bent
his brows, and his lips moved. "That would be over seven years'
interest money, at forty-two dollars a year, anyway," he said at
length, looking at the Squire with shrewdly innocent eyes.

Suddenly Eben Merritt burst into a great roar of laughter, and struck
the boy a kindly slap upon his small back.

"By the Lord Harry!" cried he, "you've struck a scheme worthy of the
Jews. But you need good Christians to deal with!"

Jerome started and stared at him, half anxiously, half resentfully.
"Ain't it right, sir?" he stammered.

"Oh, your scheme is right enough; no trouble about that. The question
is whether Doctor Prescott is right."

Eben Merritt burst into another roar of laughter as he arose and set
the boy on his feet. "I am not laughing at you, my boy," he said,
though Jerome's wondering, indigna