“Ho, ho, that’s a good one,” and Dick leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud.  “Crazy David a gentleman, with a beautiful face, and refined manners!  Think of that, dad.”

“Lois evidently doesn’t know that Crazy David is a pauper, the Devil’s Poor, and was sold to Jim Goban to board and lodge for a year.  He went pretty low, so I understand.”

At these words an expression of surprise came into Lois’ eyes, mingled with indignation.  She looked keenly into her father’s face, thinking that he must be merely joking.

“I can hardly believe that what you say is true,” she at length remarked.  “I did not know that such things were carried on in a Christian community.  Is it possible that an old man such as that was sold like a cow or a horse to the lowest bidder!”

“Well, what else could have been done with him, then?”

“Wasn’t there any one in the whole parish, willing to take care of him?”

“H’m, I guess people have all they can do to look after themselves without being burdened with a half-cracked creature such as that.  It was the best thing they could do.  It would not be fair for one person to have the entire expense of keeping him, so by this method all have a share in his support.”

“But I call it degrading,” Lois insisted, “not only to the old man himself, but to the people living here.  He seems such a gentleman, that I was drawn to him this afternoon.”

“Going to take him under your wing, eh?” Dick bantered.  “He’ll be as interesting as your other protege, I assure you.  By the way, I saw him this afternoon, and he looked his part all right, ho, ho,” and Dick laughed as he gulped down his tea.

“Who’s that, Dick?” Mr. Sinclair inquired.

“Oh, Lois knows,” was the reply.  “She can tell you all about ‘Spuds’ as well as I can, and maybe better.”

“Why should I know?” his sister asked, somewhat sharply.  “I only met him once, and that was years ago.”

“But you always take his part, though, so he seems to be somewhat under your care.”

“And why shouldn’t I?  He deserves great credit for what he has done, and it is very unbecoming of you to make fun of him.”

“I wish you could have seen him this afternoon, though,” and Dick glanced across the table at Sammie.  “We were speeding along in the car when we saw him hoeing potatoes in a field by the road.  His clothes were all soiled, his sleeves rolled up, and he looked like a regular bushman.  I called out to him as we sped past, and you should have seen the expression on his face when he saw us.  It was like a thunder cloud.  I guess he felt pretty well cut up at being caught at such work, ha, ha.”

“Whom are you talking about, anyway?” Mr. Sinclair demanded.  “What’s all this about ‘Spuds,’ I’d like to know?”

“Oh, it’s only that country chap we met several years ago, don’t you remember?” Dick explained.  “His real name, I believe, is Jasper Randall, though we have always called him Spuds, because he was digging potatoes when we first met him.”