“What would?”

“Why! —­ the farm!”

“The house wouldn’t,” said Winthrop, —­ “not to my notions.”

“It’s confoundedly out of the way, down there, a mile off from the work.”

“Only a quarter of that, and a little better,” said Winthrop calmly.

“A little worse! —­ There’s a great loss of time.  There would be twice as much work done if the house was up here.”

“I couldn’t stand it,” said Winthrop.  “How came it the house was put down there?”

“Papa bought the point first and built the house, before ever he pushed his acquirements so far as this.  He would be wise, now, to let that, and build another up here somewhere.”

“It wouldn’t pay,” said the younger brother; “and for one, I’m not sorry.”

“If the farm was clear,” said the elder, “I’d stand the chance of it’s paying; it’s that keeps us down.”

“What?”

“That debt.”

“What debt?”

“Why, the interest on the mortgage.”

“I don’t know what you are talking of.”

“Why,” said Rufus a little impatiently, “don’t you know that when papa bought the property he couldn’t pay off the whole price right down, and so he was obliged to leave the rest owing, and give security.”

“What security?”

“Why, a mortgage on the farm, as I told you.”

“What do you mean by a mortgage?”

“Why, he gave a right over the farm —­ a right to sell the farm at a certain time, if the debt was not paid and the interest upon it.”

“What is the debt?”

“Several thousands, I believe.”

“And how much does he have to pay upon that every year?”

“I don’t know exactly —­ one or two, two or three hundred dollars; and that keeps us down, you see, till the mortgage is paid off.”

“I didn’t know that.”

They sat silent a little time.  Then Winthrop said,

“You and I must pay that money off, Will.”

“Ay —­ but still there’s a question which is the best way to do it,” said Rufus.

“The best way, I’ve a notion,” said Winthrop looking round at his cattle, —­ “is not to take too long noon-spells in the afternoon.”

“Stop a bit.  Sit down! —­ I want to speak to you.  Do you want to spend all your life following the oxen?”

Winthrop stopped certainly, but he waited in silence.

“I don’t!”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know —­ something —­”

“What is the matter, Will?”

“Matter?” —­ said the other, while his fine features shewed the changing lights and shadows of a summer day, —­ “why Winthrop, that I am not willing to stay here and be a ploughman all my life, when I might be something better!”

The other’s heart beat.  But after an instant, he answered calmly,

“How can you be anything better, Will?”

“Do you think all the world lies under the shadow of Wut-a-qut-o?”