Cleveland County herald., 1919-04-10
CHAPTER xI-Continued.

or my youth. But there was q greater one, although it seemed not so at the time of it. A traveller on the road to Ballybeen had dropped his pocketbook containing large amount of money $2,700 was the sum, If I remember rightly. He was man who, being justly suspicious of the banks, had withdrawn his money. Posters an- nounced the loss and the offer of a large reward. The village was pro- foundly stirred by them. Searching parties went up the road stirring it's dust and groping in its grass and bri- CTS for the great prize which was sup posed to be lying there. It was said, however, that the quest had been un- l 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 gabbling 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 Packets, on the whole, but l was glad to be going home again. My uncle WAS in Gigh spirits and there were many packages in the sleigh.
 "A merry Christmas to ye both an may the Lord love yep said Mir. Racket as he bade us goodby. livery day our thoughts will be going up the hills to your house."
 The bells rang merrily as we hur- ried through the swamp in the hard snow paths.
 Were goin' to move," said my uncle presently. "We've agreed to get out by the middle O May"
 "How does that happen?" I asked.
 "I 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 hundred an fifty acres from Abe Leonard Goin' to build a new house in the spring. It will be nearer the village"
 He playfully nudged my ribs with his elbow.
 "We've had little good luck, Bart" he went on. ''I'll tell ye what it is if you won't say anything about it."
 promised.
 q dunno as it would matter mucA." he continued, "but I don't want to do any braggin'. It ain't anybody's busi- ness, 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 chick or child. Your aunt and me slipped down 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 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 firebox and the pudding puffing in the pot and old Shep dreaming in the chimney corner. Aunt Deel gave me hug at the door. Shm parked and leaped to my shoulders.
 "Why, Bart! You're growin' like weed-ain't ye?-ayes ye be-" my aunt said as she stood and looked at ne. "Set right down here an warm ye-ayes live done all the chores ayesw
 
 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 l ate with keener relish than the pudding and milk and bread asd 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 ana attention they gave me then!
 My fine clothes and the story of now l had come by them taxed my inge- nuity somewhat, although not improp- erly. l had to be careful not to let them know that I had been ashamed or the homemade 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! know," she said presently, Tn kind of caressing tone, with a touch of sadness in it. "They ain't used to coarse homespun stuff down there in the village. They made fun O ye-didn't they. Bart?'
 Il don't care about that" I assured them. "SThe minds the measure of the man." quoted. remembering the lines the Senator had repeated to me.