“Always my fat’er try to have no trouble,” continued Tole.  “But old man Gaviller hear about the meetings at our house.  He hear everyt’ing.  He write a letter to my fat’er that the men mus’ come no more.

“My fat’er write back.  My fat’er say:  ’This my house.  This people my relations, my friends.  My door is open to all.’  Then old man Gaviller is mad.  He call my fat’er mal-content.  He tak’ away his discount.”

“Discount?” interrupted Ambrose.

Tole frowned at the difficulty of explaining this in English.  “All goods in the store marked by prices,” he said slowly.  “Too moch prices.  Gaviller say for good men and good hunters he tak’ part of price away.  He tak’ a quarter part of price away.  He call that discount.  If a man mak’ him mad he put it back again.”

The working out of such a scheme was clear to Ambrose.  “Hm!” he commented grimly.  “This is how a monopoly gets in its innings.”

“Always my fat’er not want any trouble,” Tole went on.  “Pretty soon, I t’ink, the people not listen to him no more.  They are mad.  This year there will be trouble about the grain.  Gaviller put the price down to dollar-fifty bushel.  But he sell flour the same.”

“Do you mean to say he buys your grain at his own price, and sells you back the flour at his own price?” demanded Ambrose.

Tole nodded.  “My fat’er the first farmer here,” he explained.  “Long tam ago when I was little boy, Gaviller come to my fat’er.  He say:  ’You have plenty good land.  You grow wheat and I grind it, and both mak’ money.’

“My fat’er say:  ‘I got no plow, no binder, no thresher.’  Gaviller say:  ‘I bring them in for you.’  Gaviller say:  ’I pay you two-fifty bushel for wheat.  I can do it up here.  You pay me for the machines a little each year.’

“My fat’er t’ink about it.  He is not moch for farm.  But he t’ink, well, some day there is no more fur.  But always there is mouths for bread.  If I be farmer and teach my boys, they not starve when fur is no more.

“My fat’er say to Gaviller:  ‘All right.’  Writings are made and signed.  The ot’er men with good land on the river, they say they raise wheat, too.

“After that the machines is brought in.  Good crops is raised.  Ev’rything is fine.  Bam-by Gaviller put the price down to two-twenty-five.  Bam-by he only pay two dollar.  Tams is hard, he say.  Las’ year he pay one-seventy-five.  Now he say one-fifty all he pay.

“The farmers say they so poor now, might as well have nothing.  They say they not cut the grain this year.  Gaviller say it is his grain.  He will go on their land and cut it.  There will be trouble.”

“This is a kind of slavery!” cried Ambrose.

“There is more to mak’ trouble,” Tole went on with his calm air.  “Three years ago Gaviller build a fine big steamboat.  He say:  ’Now, boys, you can go outside when you want.’  He says:  ’This big boat will bring us ev’rything good and cheap from outside.’