“When do you go on to New York?” asked Frank, recalling the agent’s request.

“I shall start to-morrow morning.  For the present I will ask you to keep what I have said a secret even from your good mother.  It is as well not to disturb Squire Haynes in his fancied security until we are ready to overwhelm him with our evidence.”

“How long shall you be absent, Mr. Morton?”

“Probably less than a week.  I shall merely say that I have gone on business.  I trust to your discretion to say nothing more.”

“I certainly will not,” said Frank.  “I am very much obliged to you for having told me first.”

The two rose from their grassy seats, and walked slowly back to the farmhouse.

CHAPTER XXX.  FRANK CALLS ON SQUIRE HAYNES

The next morning Mr. Morton was a passenger by the early stage for Webbington, where he took the train for Boston.  Thence he was to proceed to New York by the steamboat train.

“Good-by, Mr. Morton,” said Frank, waving his cap as the stage started.  “I hope you’ll soon be back.”

“I hope so, too; good-by.”

Crack went the whip, round went the wheels.  The horses started, and the stage rumbled off, swaying this way and that, as if top-heavy.

Frank went slowly back to the house, feeling quite lonely.  He had become so accustomed to Mr. Morton’s companionship that his departure left a void which he hardly knew how to fill.

As he reflected upon Mr. Morton’s story he began to feel an increased uneasiness at the mortgage held by Squire Haynes upon his father’s farm.  The time was very near at hand—­only ten days off—­when the mortgage might be foreclosed, and but half the money was in readiness.

Perhaps, however, Squire Haynes had no intention of foreclosing.  If so, there was no occasion for apprehension.  But about this he felt by no means certain.

He finally determined, without consulting his mother, to make the squire a visit and inquire frankly what he intended to do.  The squire’s answer would regulate his future proceedings.

It was Frank’s rule—­and a very good one, too —­to do at once whatever needed to be done.  He resolved to lose no time in making his call.

“Frank,” said his mother, as he entered the house, “I want you to go down to the store some time this forenoon, and get me half a dozen pounds of sugar.”

“Very well, mother, I’ll go now.  I suppose it won’t make any difference if I don’t come back for an hour or two.”

“No, that will be in time.”

Mrs. Frost did not ask Frank where he was going.  She had perfect faith in him, and felt sure that he would never become involved in anything discreditable.

Frank passed through the village without stopping at the store.  He deferred his mother’s errand until his return.  Passing up the village street, he stopped before the fine house of Squire Haynes.  Opening the gate he walked up the graveled path and rang the bell.