startled by his nervous,
half-irritated manner.

"Money! Well, I am afraid you have come to the wrong place," he said
decisively, mistaking the children for beggars.

"Why, I thought--" began Peace, with quivering lips.

"Will a quarter be enough?" interrupted the other gray man, looking down
into the troubled face with keen, kindly, gray eyes, which seemed
strangely familiar to the child.

"Now, Campbell!" expostulated the tall, nervous man. "They come here in
swarms some days. You wouldn't be so ready with your cash if you had to
deal with the number we do."

Without reply, the man called Campbell drew a silver coin from his
pocket and extended it toward trembling Peace, but she shook her head,
gulping out, "It will take heaps more than that. Old Skinflint has got
the _mordige_ on our farm and won't give it up. I want money enough to
buy it back, so's we can still go on living there."

"Oh!" shouted the sharp-voiced man, while Mr. Campbell pocketed his
silver again. "So you thought you would come here to get the money, did
you?"

"Mr. Hardman said you let people borrow money from you," whispered Peace
miserably, wishing she had never left her seat in the carriage. "He told
me that when I poisoned half our hens, but Mrs. Grinnell said you
didn't bother with such little things; and anyway, I have bought eight
new ones already, so we don't need hens so much as we do that _mordige_.
Is your name Mr. Swift?"

"No, I am the other fellow--Smart."

"Hm, I thought it would be like that."

"Like what?"

"Why, that your names wouldn't fit. I told Mrs. Grinnell I bet Mr. Smart
would be stupider than a stump and Mr. Swift would be slower than slow.
Is that bald-headed man Mr. Swift?"

For an instant the two men in the corner stared at her in sheer
amazement, and then both burst into a great roar of laughter, which
brought the whole office force to their feet. "Say, Swift, come meet
this young mortgage raiser," called the nervous partner. "If you ever
get conceited, just interview a child."

The bald-headed man rose ponderously and joined the group, studying
every feature of the children, as he demanded, in his most business-like
tone, "What is your name?"

"Peace Greenfield."

"Where do you live?"

"Almost at Parker."

"Almost?"

"Well, we have a farm and Parker isn't big enough to hold farms. It's a
nice place, though."

"How did you get here?"

"Mrs. Grinnell brought us in her wagon."

"Who is she?