feel 't he's settled in Tiverton for good. An' there's that lot on
high ground, right near the meetin'-house, as sightly a place as ever
was, an' no good to you,--there ain't half a load o' hay cut there in a
season,--an' he'd pay the full vally"--

"Stop!" called Nicholas; and though his tone was conversational, Hattie
paused, open-mouthed, in full swing. He turned and faced her. "Hattie,"
said he, "did you know that the fust settlers of this town had anything
to do with that lot o' land?"

"No, I didn't know it," answered Hattie blankly.

"I guess you didn't," concurred Nicholas. He had gone back to his old
gentleness of voice. "An' 't wouldn't ha' meant nothin' to ye, if ye had
known it. Now, you harken to me! It's my last word. That Flat-Iron Lot
stays under this name so long as I'm above ground. When I'm gone, you
can do as ye like. Now, I don't want to hurry ye, but I'm goin' down to
vote."

Hattie rose, abashed and nearly terrified. "Well!" said she vacantly.
"Well!" Nicholas had taken the broom, under pretext of brushing up the
crumbs, and he seemed literally to be sweeping her away. It was a wind
of destiny; and scudding softly and heavily before it, she disappeared
in the gathering dusk.

"Mary!" she called from the gate, "Mary! Guess you better come along
with me."

Mary did not hear. She was standing by Nicholas, holding the edge of his
sleeve. The unaccustomed action was significant; it bespoke a passionate
loyalty. Her blue eyes were on fire, and two hot tears stood in them,
unstanched. "O gran'ther!" she cried, "don't you let 'em have it. I wish
I was father. I'd see!"

Nicholas Oldfield stood quite still, obedient to that touch upon his
arm.

"It's the name, Mary," said he. "Why, Freeman Henry's a Titcomb! He
can't help that. But he needn't think he can buy Oldfield land, an' set
up a house there, as if 't was all in the day's work. Why, Mary, I meant
to leave that land to you! An' p'raps you won't marry. Nobody knows.
Then, 't would stand in the name a mite longer."

Mary blushed a little, but her eyes never wavered.

"No, gran'ther," said she firmly, "I sha'n't ever marry anybody."

"Well, ye can't tell," responded Nicholas, with a sigh. "Ye can't tell.
He might take your name if he wanted ye enough; but I should call it a
poor tool that would do that."

He sighed again, as he reached for his hat, and Mary and he went out of
the house together, hand in hand. At the gate they parted, and