away I suppose," growled Silas Fells' former workman. "Then I suppose you ain't got much money on hand, either."
"Not a great deal," responded Mrs. Gresson, as she set the table and poured a cup of tea from the pot on the back of the stove.
"How much have you got?"
"I've only got ten dollars that I dare use," returned the woman, after some hesitation.
"Dare use? What do you mean? Have you got more?"
"I have that sixty dollars interest money on the mortgage. But I must pay that over to Mr. Brown next Wednesday."
"Humph! Why don't you let old Brown wait? He's rich enough."
"I would rather pay him, and then I will be sure of a roof over my head, at least for another year."
"Didn't they try to take the house from you after I was gone?"
"They couldn't do that, for the deed is in my name."
"Well, about this money. Where is it?"
"In the trunk upstairs. But, Andy, I hope you—you—"
"What," he asked, sourly.
"I hope you won't touch it. It was very hard to save that amount out of my earnings."
"I need money," returned Andy Gresson, reck-
