kept them on a
shelf in his "office" for several years, and now, when his eye chanced
to light upon them, he gave a snort of triumph and pounced upon them
eagerly. Mr. Merrick was a newcomer. Without doubt he could be induced
to buy a copy of Radford's Lives.

An hour later McNutt was on his mission, the three copies, which had
been carefully dusted, reclining on the buggy seat beside him. Arrived
at the Wegg farm, he drove up to the stile and alighted.

Louise was reading in the hammock, and merely glanced at the little man,
who solemnly stumped around to the back door with the three red volumes
tucked underneath his arm. He had brought them all along to make his
errand "look like business."

"Where's the nabob?" he asked blind Nora.

"What's that, Mr. McNutt?" she inquired, as if puzzled. She knew his
voice, as she did that of nearly everyone with whom she had ever been
brought in contact.

"Why, the nabob; the boss; Mr. Merrick."

"Oh. He's in the barn with Tom, I guess."

McNutt entered the barn. Uncle John was seated upon an overturned pail
watching Old Hucks oil Joe's harness. The agent approached him with a
deferential bow.

"Sir," said he, "you'll 'scuse my comin' agin so soon to be a-botherin';
but I hev here three copies of Radford's famis wucks on the Lives o' the
Saints, in a edishun dee looks----"

"A what?"

"A edishun dee looks, which means extry fine. It's a great book an'
they's all out'n print 'cept these three, which I hain't no doubt many
folks would be glad to give their weight in gold fer, an' some over."

"Stand out of the light, McNutt."

The agent shifted his position.

"Them books, sir----"

"Oh, take 'em away."

"What!"

"I don't read novels."

McNutt scratched his head, perplexed at the rebuff. His "dee looks"
speech had usually resulted in a sale. An idea flashed across his
brain--perhaps evolved by the scratching.

"The young lady, sir--"

"Oh, the girls are loaded with books," growled the nabob.

The agent became desperate.

"But the young lady in the hammick, sir, as I jest now left, says to
tell ye she wants one o' these books mighty bad, an' hopes you'll buy it
for her eddificationing."

"Oh; she does, eh?"

"Mighty bad, sir."

Uncle John watched Thomas polish a buckle.

"Is it a moral work?" he asked.

"Nuthin' could be moraler, sir. All 'bout the lives o'--"

"How much is it?"

"Comes pretty high, sir. Three dollars. But it's--"

"Here. Take