The Dolores star., 1919-04-11
CHAPTER xI-Continued.

of my youth. But there was greater
one, although 1t seemed not so at the
time of it. A traveller on the road to
Ballybeen had dropped his pocketbook
containing a large amount of money
S2,700 was the sum, If l remember
rightly. He was a man who, being
Justly suspicious Of the banks, had
withdrawn his money. Posters an
nounced the loss and the offer of q
large reward. The village was pro-
foundly stirred by them. Searching
parties went up the road stirring its
dust and cropping in its grass and bri-
ers for the great prize which was sup
posed to be lying there. 1t was said,
however, that the quest had been un-
successful. So the lost pocketbook
became a treasured mystery Of the
village and of all the hills and val
leys toward Ballybeen-a topic of old
wives and Cabling husbands at the
freside for unnumbered years.
By and by the fall term of school
ended. Uncle Peabody came down to
get me the day before Christmas.
had enjoyed my work and my life at
the Hackets', on the whole, but / was
glad to be going home again. My
uncle was in high spirits and there
were many packages in the sleigh.
"A merry Christmas to ye both an
may the Lord love ye" said Mr..
Hacket as he bade US goodby. "Every
day our thoughts will be going up the
lills to your house."
The bells rang merrily as we hur-
eied through the swamp in the hard
snow paths.
"We're goin' to move" said my
uncle presently. "We've agreed to get
out by the middle O. May"
"How does that happen?" asked.
81 settled with Grimshaw and agreed
to go. If it hadn't "a been for Wright
and Baldwin we wouldn't "a got a
cent. They threatened to bid against
him at the sale. So he settled. We're
goin' to have a new home. We've
bought a hundred an fifty acres from
Abe Leonard. Coin to build new
house in the spring. 1t will be nearer
the village"
He playfully nudged my ribs with
his elbow.
"We've had little good luck, Bart"
he went on. an tell ye what 1t is if
'ou won't say anything about it"
I promised.
II dunno as it would matter much"
he continued. "but don't want to do
any braggin'. 1t amt anybody's busi-
ness. anyway. An old uncle over in
Vermont died three weeks ago and
left US thirty-eight hundred dollars
1t was old Uncle Ezra Baynes O.
Hinesburg. Died without 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 / ever see before
in my life. We put 1t in the bank in
Potsdam to keep it out o. Grimshaw's
hands. wouldn't trust that man as
fur as you could throw a bull by the
tail"
1t was cold, clear night, and when
we reached home the new stove was
swapping with the heat in its firebox
and the pudding putting in the pot
and old Shep dreaming in the chimney
corner. Aunt DeeI gave me hug at
the door. Shep barked and leaped to
my shoulders.
"Why, Bartl You're CROWN like a
weed-ain't ye?-ayes We be" my
aunt said as she stood and looked at
ne. "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 1t. 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
] ate with a keener relish than the
pudding and milk and bread and but
ter 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 l told the story of my life in
"the busy town." as they called it.
What pride and attention they gave
me then!
My fine clothes and the story Of how
1 had come by them taxed my inge-
nuity somewhat, although not improp-
erly. 1 had to be careful not to let
them know that I had been ashamed
OF the homemade suit. They somehow
felt the truth about 1t and 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! l know" she said presently
IN kind of caressing tone with a
touch Of sadness in it. "They amt
used to coarse homespun stuff down
there In the .illage. They ma6s fun
o didn't they, Bart7"
Il don't care about that" I assured
them. 1.-The minds the measure of
the man." quoted, remembering the
Ainss the Senator had repeated to me.