t, my own flesh and blood, too? Well, there----"

"I mean nothing derogatory to your boy, believe me," interrupted
Iredale, as he noted the heightened colour of face and the angry
sparkle that flashed in the good dame's eyes "I simply mean that it is
useless to throw good money after bad. Fruit farming is a lottery in
which the prizes go to those who take the most tickets. In other
words, it is a question of acreage. A small man may lose his crop
through blight, drought, a hundred causes. The larger man has a better
chance by reason of the extent of his crop. Now I should take it, you
could do better for your son by obtaining all the facts, sorting them
out and then deciding what to do. My experience prompts me to suggest
another business. Why not the farm?"

All signs of resentment had left Mrs. Malling's face. She deposited
her biscuits and returned to the stove, standing before her guest with
her hands buried deep in her apron pockets and a delighted smile on
her face.

"That's just what I thought at once," she said. "You're real smart,
George; why not the farm? I says that to myself right off. I couldn't
do better, I know, but there's drawbacks. Yes, drawbacks. Hervey isn't
much for the petticoats--meaning his own folks. He's not one to play
second fiddle, so to speak. Now while I live the farm is mine, and I
learned my business from one who could teach me--my Silas. Now I'd
make Hervey my foreman and give him a good wage. He'd have all he
wants, but he'd have to be _my_ foreman." The old lady shook her head
dubiously.

"And you think Hervey wouldn't accept a subordinate position?"

"He's that proud. Just like my poor Silas," murmured the mother.

"Then he's a fool. But you try him," Iredale said dryly.

"Do you think he might?"

"You never can tell."

"I wonder now if you--yes, I'll ask him."

"Offer it to him, you mean." George Iredale smiled quietly.

"Yes, offer it to him," the old lady corrected herself thoughtfully.
"But I'm forgetting my stewing oysters, and Mistress Prudence will get
going on--for she had them sent up all the way from St. John's--if
they're burned." She turned to one of the kettles and began stirring
at once. "Hervey is coming back after he's been to Niagara, and I'll
talk to him then. I wish you could have seen him before he went, but
he's abed."

"Never mind, there's time enough when he comes back. Ah, Prudence, how
is the euchre 'progressing'?" Iredale turned as the girl ca