pensive joy as,
a turkey.

He knew that Newton would not pucker up his mouth and screw his eyes to
keep the tears in, like a girl; and he was quite sure that the boy would
not reproach him for having been so careless. He might not seem to care
very much, but he would be terribly disappointed; that was the worst of
it all, next to owing money that he had no hope of paying. Indeed, he
hardly knew which hurt him more than the other, for the disgrace of
debt, as he called it, was all his own, but the bitter disappointment
was on Newton too.

The latter listened in silence till his father had finished, and his
boyish face was preternaturally thoughtful.

"I've seen boys make just such mistakes at the blackboard," he observed
in a tone of melancholy reflection. "And they generally catch it
afterwards too," he added. "It's natural."

"I've 'caught it,'" Overholt answered. "You have too, my dear boy,
though you didn't make the mistake--that's not just."

"Well, father, I don't know what we're going to do, but something has
got to be done right away, and we've got to find out what it is."

"Thank goodness you're not a girl!" cried Overholt fervently.

"I'm glad too; only, if I were one, I should most likely die young and
go to heaven, and you'd have me off your mind all right. The girls
always do in storybooks."

He made this startling and general observation quite naturally. Of
course girls died and went to heaven when there was nothing to eat; he
secretly thought it would be better if more of them did, even without
starvation.

"Let's work, anyhow," he added, as his father said nothing. "Maybe we'll
think of something while we're building that railroad depot. Don't you
suppose that now you've got so far the Motor would keep while you
taught, and you could go at it again in the vacations? That's an idea,
father, come now!"

He was already in his place before the board on which the little City
was built, and his eyes were fixed on the lines his father had drawn as
a plan for the station and the diverging tracks. But Overholt did not
sit down. His usual place was opposite the Motor, where he could see it,
but he did not want to look at it now.

"Change seats with me, boy," he said. "I cannot stand the sight of it. I
suppose I'm imaginative. All this has upset me a good deal."

He wished he had the lad's nerves, the solid nerves of hungry and
sleepy thirteen. Newton got up at once and changed places, and for a few