“But,” asked Quincy, “where did she get her money?”

Hiram answered, “From her only brother.  He went down to Boston, made a pile of money, then died and left it all to Lindy.  If what I’ve told you ain’t gospel truth it’s mighty near it.  Well, I’ll see you later, Mr. Sawyer.”

And Hiram ran down a path that led across the fields.

Quincy turned the corner and walked briskly towards Hill’s grocery store.  A dozen or more young men and as many older ones were lounging about the platform that ran the whole length of the store, for it was a very mild day in January, and the snow was rapidly leaving under the influence of what might be called a January thaw.

Quincy walked through the crowd, giving a friendly nod to several faces that looked familiar, but the names of whose owners were unknown to him.  He entered the store, found a letter from his mother and another from his sister Gertie, and saying “Good morning” to Mr. Hill, who was the village postmaster, soon reached the platform again.

As he did so a heavily built young fellow, fully six feet tall and having a coarse red face, stepped up to him and said brusquely, “I believe your name’s Sawyer.”

“Your belief is well founded,” replied Quincy.  “I regret that I do not know your name.”

“Well, you won’t have to suffer long before you find out,” said the fellow.  “My name’s Robert Wood, or Bob Wood for short.”

“Ah!  I see,” said Quincy.  “Robert for long wood and Bob for short wood.”

Wood’s face grew redder.

“I s’pose you think that’s mighty smart makin’ fun of folks’ names.  I guess there ain’t much doubt but what you said what a friend of mine tells me you did.”

Quincy remarked calmly, “Well, what did your friend say I said about you?”

By this time the loungers in and outside the store had gathered around the two talkers.  Wood seemed encouraged and braced up by the presence of so many friends.  He walked up close to Quincy and said, “Well, my friend told me that you said there was but one jackass in Eastborough and he sang bass in the quartette.”

Quincy paled a little, but replied firmly, “I never said it, and if your friend says I did he lies and he knows it.”

At this juncture, as if prearranged, Obadiah Strout suddenly emerged from the grocery store.

“What’s the matter, gentlemen?” asked Mr. Strout.

“Well,” said Wood, “I told this young man what you said he said, and he says you’re a liar.”

“Well,” said Strout pompously, “I know that he said it and I have witnesses to prove it.  When you settle with him for calling you a jackass I’ll settle with him for calling me a liar.”

“Take your coat off, Mr. Sawyer, and get ready.  I won’t keep you waitin’ but a few moments,” said Bob.

A jeering laugh went up from the crowd.  Quincy, turning, saw Hiram.

“Here, Hiram,” said he, “hold my things.”