alf so much about me as you do."

"No, he don't. I think everything of you. And that's why Aunt Betsey
says you ought to be careful to set me a good example."

"That's so," said Clifton, laughing. "Now tell me about old Fleming."

Ben never had the power of refusing to do what his cousin asked him, but
he had little to tell that Clifton had not heard before. There was talk
of forming a great manufacturing company in Gershom; but there had been
talk of that since ever Clifton could remember. The only difference now
was that a new dam was to be built further up the river at a place
better suited for it, and with more room for the raising of large
buildings than was the point where Mr Holt had built his first saw-mill
in earlier times. It was supposed to be for this purpose that Jacob
Holt was desirous to obtain possession of that part of the Fleming farm
that lay on the Beaver River; for, though a company was to be formed,
everybody knew that he would have the most to say and do about it. But
Mr Fleming had refused to sell, "and folks had talked round
considerable," Ben said, and he went on to repeat a good deal that was
anything but complimentary to Jacob.

"But I told our folks that you and Uncle Gershom would see Mr Fleming
through, and Aunt Betsey, she said if you were worth your salt you'd
stay at home and see to things for your father, and not let Jacob
disgrace the name. But I said you'd put it all straight, and Aunt
Betsey she said--"

"Well, what did Aunt Betsey say?" for Ben stopped suddenly.

"She told me to shut up," said Ben, hanging his head.

Clifton laughed heartily.

"And she doesn't think me worth my salt. Well, never mind. It is an
even chance that she is right. But I think she is hard on Jacob."

There was time for no more talk. They had skirted the little brook till
they came to a grove of birch and wild cherry-trees that had been left
to grow on a rocky knoll where the water fell over a low ledge on its
way from the pasture above. The sound of voices made them pause before
they set foot on the path that led upwards.

"It's the Fleming children, I suppose," said Ben. "They'll be telling
us, mayhap, that we're breaking the Sabbath, and I expect so we be."

David Fleming's Forgiveness--by Margaret Murray Robertson

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE FLEMING CHILDREN.

Instead of following the path, Clifton went round the knoll to the
brook, and paused again at the sight of a pair or tw