“It was six,” replied Bush, respectfully.

“That warn’t my understanding, but we’ll let it go at that; I’ve allers been too gin’rous, and my heart’s too big for my pocket.  Lemme see.”

He uttered the last words thoughtfully, as he took his small account-book from his pocket, and began figuring with the stub of a pencil.  “Three months at six dollars will be eighteen dollars.”

“Yes, sir; that’s right.”

“Don’t interrupt me, young man,” sternly remarked the farmer, frowning at him over his spectacles.  “The full amount is eighteen dollars—­Kerrect—­L—­em—­m—­e see; you have et seven breakfasts here; at fifty cents apiece that is three dollars and a half.  Then, l—­em—­m—­e see; you was late eleven times, and I’ve docked you twenty-five cents for each time; that makes two dollars and seventy-five cents.”

Inasmuch as Bush’s wages amounted hardly to twenty-five cents a day, it must be admitted that this was drawing it rather strong.

“L—­em—­m—­e see,” continued Mr. Ashton, wetting the pencil stub between his lips, and resuming his figuring; “your board amounts to three dollars and a half; your loss of time to two seventy-five; that makes six and a quarter, which bein’ took from eighteen dollars, leaves ’leven seventy-five.  There you are!”

As he spoke, he extended his hand, picked up a small canvas bag from the top of his old-fashioned writing-desk, and tossed it to the dumfounded boy.  The latter heard the coins inside jingle, as it fell in his lap, and, as soon as he could command his voice, he swallowed the lump in his throat, and faintly asked: 

“Is that—­is that right, Mr. Ashton?”

“Count it and see for yourself,” was the curt response.

This was not exactly what Bush meant, but he mechanically unfastened the cord around the throat of the little bag, tumbled the coins out in his hat and slowly counted them.  They footed up exactly eleven dollars and seventy-five cents, proving that Mr. Ashton’s figuring was altogether unnecessary, and that he had arranged the business beforehand.

While Bush was examining the coins, his heart gave a sudden quick throb.  He repressed all signs of the excitement he felt, however.

“How do you find it?” asked the man, who had never removed his eyes from him, “Them coins have been in the house more’n fifty year—­that is, some of ’em have, but they’re as good as if they’s just from the mint, and bein’ all coin, you can never lose anything by the bank bustin’.”

“It is correct,” said Bush.

“Ar’ you satisfied?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then sign this receipt, and we’re square.”

The lad sat down at the desk and attached his name in a neat round hand to the declaration that he had received payment in full for his services from Mr. Zephaniah Ashton, up to the first of September of the current year.

“This is all mine, Mr. Ashton?”