"Yes, sir. Mr. Inchpin is having a new barn built on the hill back of
his house. The brook runs at the foot of it and I'm going to haul gravel
and sand and water up to the building site. It'll take about a month. He
provides the horse and wagon."

"And how much will he pay you?" asked Mrs. Wilkins.

"He says he can't tell till he's through. But I'm going to ask him for
five dollars."

Jason's father looked amused and a little troubled. "Jason, I hope
you're not too interested in Mammon. But I must say I'm glad to see you
have your mother's energy."

"Or your father's," said Mrs. Wilkins, smiling into the blue eyes
opposite hers. "Nobody can say that a circuit rider lacks energy."

And so during the hot August days, Jason toiled on Mr. Inchpin's new
barn, never once visiting the swimming hole in the brook, never once
heeding the long-drawn invitation of the cicada to loll under the trees
with one of Mr. Inchpin's books, never once breaking away when the toot
of the packet reverberated among the hills.

"He's a fine lad," Mr. Inchpin told Jason's father. "I never have seen
such determination in a little fellow."

Brother Wilkins looked gratified, but when he repeated the little
compliment to Jason's mother he added, "I don't believe I understand
Jason altogether."

"I do," said Mrs. Wilkins, stoutly.

August came to an end with cool nights and shorter days and Mr.
Inchpin's barn was finished of a Saturday evening. He called Jason into
the house, into the library where there were bound volumes of _Godey's
Lady's Book_ and Blackwood, and handed him three paper dollars.

"There you are, my man. I'd intended to give you only two. But you've
done well, by ginger, so here's three dollars."

Jason looked up at him dumbly, mumbled something, stuffed the bills into
his trousers pocket and bolted for home. He burst in on his mother in
the kitchen, buried his face against her bosom and sobbed.

"I can't have it after all! He only gave me three dollars! I can't have
it! And now I'll never know how that story 'Bleak House' ended."

Jason's father came into the kitchen, hastily: "What in the world--"

"Jason! Jason! don't sob so!" cried Mrs. Wilkins. "We'll raise the rest
of the money some way. I'll find it. Hush, dear, hush! Mercy, the mush
is burning!"

Jason's father took the boy's grimy blistered hand, such a strong
slender hand and so like his mother's, and sitting down in the kitchen
chair, he pulled Jason to