Little Paul looked inquiringly at his father.  He had more than once begged to be allowed to work in the Rippleton factories, that he might earn something towards supporting the family; but his parents would never consent to take him away from school and confine him in the noisy, dusty rooms of the mills.  His father’s words suggested the idea that they had consented to his request, and that he was to be allowed to work for a living.

“’Squire Chase has been here to-day,” added Mr. Munroe, sadly.

“Has he?  What did he say?” asked Paul, a shade of anxiety gathering upon his fine, manly face.

“We must leave our house, my son,” replied the father, with a sigh.

“Won’t he wait?”

“No.”

“How did he act while he was here?”

“He was very harsh and unfeeling.”

“The villain!” exclaimed Paul, with emphasis, as his check reddened with indignation.

“He is a hard man, Paul; but reproaches are of no use.  The note is due on the first of May; I cannot pay it, so we must leave the house.”

“Where are we to go, father?”

“Your grandfather, who has a large farm in Maine, has written for me to come there; and your mother and I have decided to go.”

Paul looked sad at the thought of leaving the pleasant scenes of his early life, and bidding farewell to his cherished friends; but there was no help for it, and he cheerfully yielded to the necessity.  It was of no use to think of moving the heart of ’Squire Chase—­it was cold, hard, and impenetrable.  He was a close-fisted lawyer, who had made a handsome fortune in the city by taking advantage of the distresses of others, and it was not likely that he, having thus conquered all the nobler impulses of his nature, would have any sympathy for Mr. Munroe in his unfortunate condition.

The poor man had bought the little place he occupied a few years before for seven hundred dollars—­paying two hundred down, and giving his note, secured by a mortgage, for the rest.  The person of whom he had purchased the place, whose lands joined it, had sold his estate to ’Squire Chase, to whom, also, he had transferred the mortgage.  The retired lawyer was not content to remain quiet in his new home, and there repent of his many sins, but immediately got up an immense land speculation, by which he hoped to build a village on his grounds, and thus make another fortune.

Mr. Munroe’s little place was in his way.  He wanted to run a road over the spot where the house was located, and had proposed to buy it and the land upon which it stood.  He offered seven hundred and fifty dollars for it; but it was now worth nine hundred, and Mr. Munroe refused the offer.  The ’Squire was angry at the refusal, and from that time used all the means in his power to persecute his poor neighbor.