“Hush now, Dick; you forget—­”

“Forget—­I don’t forget nothin’,” retorted Dick, interrupting his wife.  “He had to help with the chores an’ work, an’ he don’t do a thing and expects to live on me.”

“Oh, well, you won’t have me long to bother you,” said Caleb sadly, as he tottered to a chair.  His face was white and he looked sick and shaky.

“What’s the matter, father?”

“Oh, I’m pretty bad.  I won’t last much longer You’ll be quit o’ me before many days.”

“Big loss!” grumbled Dick.

“I—­I give you my farm an’ everything I had—­”

“Oh, shut up.  I’m sick of hearing about it.”

“At least—­’most—­everything.  I—­I—­I—­didn’t say nothing about a little wad o’—­o’—­bills I had stored away.  I—­I—­” and the old man trembled violently—­“I’m so cold.”

“Dick, do make a fire,” said his wife.

“I won’t do no sich fool trick.  It’s roastin’ hot now.”

“’Tain’t much,” went on the trembling old man, “only fif—­fif—­teen hundred—­dollars.  I got it here now,” and he drew out the roll of greenbacks.

FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS! Twice as much as the whole farm and stock were worth!  Dick’s eyes fairly popped out, and Caleb was careful to show also the handle of the white revolver.

“Why, father,” exclaimed Saryann, “you are ill:  Let me go get you some brandy.  Dick, make a fire.  Father is cold as ice.”

“Yes—­please—­fire—­I’m all of—­a—­tremble—­with—­cold.”

Dick rushed around now and soon the big fire place was filled with blaze and the room unpleasantly warm.

“Here, father, have some brandy and water,” said Dick, in a very different tone.  “Would you like a little quinine?”

“No, no—­I’m better now; but I was saying—­I only got a few days to live, an’ having no legal kin—­this here wad’d go to the gover’ment, but I spoke to the lawyer, an’ all I need do—­is—­add—­a word to the deed o’ gift—­for the farm—­to include this—­an’ it’s very right you should have it, too.”  Old Caleb shook from head to foot and coughed terribly.

“Oh, father, let me send for the doctor,” pleaded Saryann, and Dick added feebly, “Yes, father, let me go for the doctor.”

“No, no; never mind.  It don’t matter.  I’ll be better off soon.  Have you the deed o’ gift here?”

“Oh, yes, Dick has it in his chest.”  Dick ran to get the deed, for these were the days before registration in Canada; possession of the deed was possession of the farm, and to lose the deed was to lose the land.

The old man tremblingly fumbled over the money, seeming to count it—­“Yes—­just—­fif-teen hun’erd,” as Dick came clumping down the ladder with the deed.

“Have you got a—­pen—­and ink—­”