“I have been harsh with him sometimes, I s’pose, and I’ve said lot’s o’ things ag’in the rich folks that I hadn’t orter.  There’s one decent one, anyway.”

“Who’s that?” his wife wanted to know.

“Mr. Morrison.”

Tony came into the room at this moment, and caught the sound of the name.

“What of him?” he asked.

Then Job Loring told his story: 

“That chap who was here to-day worked with me’n Aaron, over on Scaly Brook last winter, and the land we trespassed on belonged to this Mr. Morrison.  I didn’t know it at the time.  Morrison was away, but a lawyer in Ashville advised Smart to take the hull lot o’ logs, ’cause they was forfeited.  But there was one landin’, or brow of logs, that could be proved as come off of our permit, every stick of it, though I didn’t know it.  This brow was in the way of the others, and some o’ the boys attached it for their wages.  Then they sent this red-whiskered man through to see what Morrison was going to do about it.  He came home himself and agreed to pay every man, and to-day we got it.”

Then he turned to Tony.

“How much did you make last winter?” he asked.

“A hundred and thirty-three dollars,” replied Tony, omitting the odd cents.

“Four dollars more than Aaron and me,” said Mr. Loring.

He got up and paced across the room and back.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” he continued, speaking with some effort, “I’m going to pay that all back to you, Tony—­every cent of it.”

He had expected to see Tony spring to his feet with a great outburst of joy.  Instead, he only shook his head and said, slowly: 

“I don’t want it; you can keep it.”

“Well! well! well!”

It was all Job Loring could say.

“You can give me part of it, if you like,” said Tony, at length.  “I suppose I shall need some clothes.”

“And you ain’t going to peddling, nor nothing?” queried Mr. Loring.

Again Tony shook his head.

And so the matter was dropped.

Another week went by and Tony was one day walking through Ashville.  He had purchased, at the earnest solicitation of his mother, a suit of well-fitting clothes; but he was low-spirited, and in spite of the money he had made, the past winter seemed a sort of failure to him.

Suddenly some one grasped him by the shoulder and a familiar voice shouted in his ear: 

“Hello, Tony, how are you?  I hardly knew you, with your new toggery on.”

Could it be possible?  Yes, he was shaking hands with Morrison.

They were near Mr. Smart’s hardware store.

“Come inside,” said Morrison.  “I’ve got a bit of news to tell you.”

They entered.  Mr. Smart was nowhere in sight.

“Right into the office,” continued the young man, gaily.  “Now, no backwardness to-day.  Sit right down, while I spin my yarn, as the sailors say.  It was as big a surprise to me as it will be to you.”