as married now these three
years to Abigail Mack, had two children, and a share in the business;
but he got no suggestion from him. Elisha, who had grown very stout,
sat comfortably on a half-barrel of sugar inside the counter, sucking
a stick of peppermint candy, unmoved by anything, even the entrance
of his old enemy, Jerome. As Cyrus Robinson was making up his mind to
say something, Doctor Seth Prescott spoke, coldly and magisterially,
without moving a muscle in his face, which was like a fine pale mask.

"May I ask Mr. Lamb," he said, "how long, in his judgment, when the
money shall have been divided and poured from one purse into many
others, when the loaves shall have been distributed among all the
empty cupboards, and when all the surplus garments have been
portioned out to the naked, this happy state of equal possessions
will last?"

"Well," replied Ozias Lamb, slowly, "I should say, takin' all things
into consideration--the graspin' qualities of them that had been
rich, and the spillin' qualities of them that had been poor, about
fourteen hours an' three-quarters. I might make it twenty-four--I
s'pose some might hang on to it overnight--but I guess on the whole
it's safer to call it fourteen an' three-quarters."

"Well," returned Doctor Prescott, "what then, Mr. Lamb?"

"Give it back again," said Ozias, shortly.

Squire Eben Merritt gave a great shout of mirth. "By the Lord Harry,"
he cried, "that's an idea!"

"It is an entirely erroneous system of charity which you propose, Mr.
Lamb," said Doctor Prescott; "such a constant disturbance and
shifting of the property balance would shake the financial basis of
the whole country. Our present system of one public charity, to
include all the poor of the town, is the only available one, in the
judgment of the ablest philanthropists in the country."

Ozias Lamb got off his keg, straightened his bowed shoulders as well
as he was able, and raised his right hand. "You call the poorhouse
righteous charity, do ye, Doctor Seth Prescott?" he demanded. "You
call it givin' in the name of the Lord?"

Doctor Prescott made no response; indeed, Ozias did not wait for one.
He plunged on in a very fury of crude oratory.

"It ain't charity!" he cried. "I tell ye what it is--it's a pushin'
an' hustlin' of the poor off the steps of the temple, an' your own
door-steps an' door-paths, to get 'em out of your sight an' sound,
where your purple an' fine linen won't sweep against th