e trouble doing that," he said.

"Why?"

"Wegg and Thompson had transferred their entire stock to me before one
died and the other went mad," was the quiet reply.

"Oh, I see." The lie was so evident that Uncle John did not try to
refute it.

"I am rather busy, Mr. Merrick. Anything more, sir?"

"Not today. Bye and bye, Mr. West."

He marched out again and climbed into his buggy to drive home. The
interview with Bob West had made him uneasy, for the merchant's cold,
crafty nature rendered him an opponent who would stick at nothing to
protect his ill-gotten gains. Uncle John had thought it an easy matter
to force him to disgorge, but West was the one inhabitant of Millville
who had no simplicity in his character. He was as thoroughly imbued with
worldly subtlety and cunning as if he had lived amid the grille of a
city all his life; and Mr. Merrick was by no means sure of his own
ability to unmask the man and force him to make restitution.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE COURT'N OF SKIM CLARK.

By this time the summer was well advanced, and the rich people at the
Wegg farm had ceased to be objects of wonder to the Millville folk. The
girls were still regarded with curious looks when they wandered into the
village on an errand, and Mr. Merrick and Major Doyle inspired a certain
amount of awe; but time had dulled the edge of marvelous invasion and
the city people were now accepted as a matter of course.

Peggy McNutt was still bothering his head over schemes to fleece the
strangers, in blissful ignorance of the fact that one of his neighbors
was planning to get ahead of him.

The Widow Clark was a shrewd woman. She had proven this by becoming one
of the merchants of Millville after her husband's death. The poor man
had left an insurance of five hundred dollars and the little frame
building wherein he had conducted a harness shop. Mrs. Clark couldn't
make and repair harness; so she cleared the straps and scraps and
wax-ends out of the place, painted the interior of the shop bright
yellow, with a blue ceiling, erected some shelves and a counter and
turned part of the insurance money into candy, cigars, stationery, and a
meager stock of paper-covered novels.

Skim, her small son, helped her as far as he was able, and between them
they managed things so frugally that at the end of eight years the widow
still had her five hundred dollars capital, and the little store had
paid her living expenses.

Skim was named after hi