As he left the village the snow began to fall heavily and this, perhaps, was why he decided to stop at the farm-house, which was not upon the highway, but nearly half a mile from it, upon a cross-road which led through Peter Jerrold’s farm to the town line, and which was seldom traveled by any one except by Peter Jerrold himself and those who came to visit him.  Thus the house stood in a most lonely, secluded spot, with only the chimney and the top of the roof visible to the people of the neighborhood.

Here Peter Jerrold lived with his daughter Hannah, who was now nearly fifteen, and who had kept his house since her mother’s death, which occurred when she was twelve years old.

Bright, unselfish, and very pretty, Hannah was a general favorite with the people of Allington and many were the merry-makings and frolics held at the old farm-house by her young friends.  But these were suddenly brought to an end by a fearful sickness which came upon Hannah, and, which transformed her from the light-hearted, joyous girl of fifteen, into a quiet, reserved, white-faced woman, who might have passed for twenty-five, and whose hair at eighteen was beginning to turn gray.  It was the fever, the people said, and Hannah permitted them to think so, though she knew that the cause lay behind the fever, and dated from the awful night when Joel Rogers came into their kitchen, and asked for shelter from the storm, which was readily granted him.

It was probably his last visit, he said, as it was doubtful if he ever returned to America, for he meant to settle down and die in Carnarvon, his old home, where his only sister, Elizabeth, was living.  Then he talked of his money, which, he said, was considerable, and was mostly invested in some slate quarries in the vicinity of Carnarvon.

For a long time the two men sat before the wood fire, talking of England and Wales, eating the apples which Hannah brought them from the cellar, and drinking freely of some wine which Peter had made himself, and which he brought out in honor of his friend’s last visit.

This at last began to take effect, making them loud and noisy, and inclined to contradict each other, and quarrel generally, and then, as the peddler was counting out his gold, of which he had several hundred dollars he turned suddenly to Mr. Jerrold, and said: 

“By the way, you have never paid me the five dollars I loaned you when I was here last winter.”

The latter affirmed that he had paid it in the spring, and that Hannah saw him do it, which was the fact.  But the peddler persisted in his demand, and grew louder and more vociferous in his language, calling both Peter Jerrold and Hannah liars, and saying he would have his money if he went to law to get it.