as it would matter much," he continued, "but I don't want to do
any braggin'. It ain't anybody's business but ours, anyway. An old uncle
over in Vermont died three weeks ago and left us thirty-eight hundred
dollars. It was old Uncle Ezra Baynes o' Hinesburg. Died without a chick
or child. Your aunt and me slipped down to Potsdam an' took the stage
an' went over an' got the money. It was more money than I ever see
before in my life. We put it in the bank in Potsdam to keep it out o'
Grimshaw's hands. I wouldn't trust that man as fur as you could throw a
bull by the tail."

It was a cold clear night and when we reached home the new stove was
snapping with the heat in its fire-box and the pudding puffing in the
pot and old Shep dreaming in the chimney corner. Aunt Deel gave me a hug
at the door. Shep barked and leaped to my shoulders.

"Why, Bart! You're growin' like a weed--ain't ye?--ayes ye be," my aunt
said as she stood and looked at me. "Set right down here an' warm
ye--ayes!--I've done all the chores--ayes!"

How warm and comfortable was the dear old room with those beloved faces
in it. I wonder if paradise itself can seem more pleasant to me. I have
had the best food this world can provide in my time, but never anything
that I ate with a keener relish than the pudding and milk and bread and
butter and cheese and pumpkin pie which Aunt Deel gave us that night.

Supper over, I wiped the dishes for my aunt while Uncle Peabody went out
to feed and water the horses. Then we sat down in the genial warmth
while I told the story of my life in "the busy town," as they called it.
What pride and attention they gave me then!

Three days before they had heard of my adventure with the flail, as to
which Mr. Hacket, the district attorney and myself had maintained the
strictest reticence. It seemed that the deacon had blabbed, as they used
to say, regarding his own brave part in the subsequent proceedings.

My fine clothes and the story of how I had come by them taxed my
ingenuity somewhat, although not improperly. I had to be careful not to
let them know that I had been ashamed of the home-made suit. They,
somehow, felt the truth about it and a little silence followed the
story. Then Aunt Deel drew her chair near me and touched my hair very
gently and looked into my face without speaking.

"Ayes! I know," she said presently, in a kind of caressing tone, with a
touch of sadness in it. "They ain't used to coarse homespun stuf