In due course of time, he arrived at Cedarville, and found his way without difficulty to the house of ’Squire Conant.

It was a large house, rather imposing in its exterior, being quite the finest residence in the village.

Paul went up the walk, and rang the bell.

“Can I see ’Squire Conant?” he asked of the servant who answered the bell.

“You’ll find him in that room,” said the girl, pointing to a door on the left hand of the hall.

“As he doesn’t know me, perhaps you had better go before.”

The door was opened, and Paul found himself in the presence of his father’s creditor.  ’Squire Conant was looking pale and thin.  He was just recovering from a severe sickness.

“I presume you don’t recognize me, sir,” said Paul.

“Did I ever see you before?”

“Yes, sir; my name is Paul Prescott.”

“Not the son of John Prescott?”

“The same, sir.  I believe my father died in your debt.”

“Yes.  I lent him five hundred dollars, which he never repaid.”

“He tried to do so, sir.  He had saved up a hundred and fifty dollars towards it, but sickness came upon him, and he was obliged to use it.”

’Squire Conant’s temper had been subdued by the long and dangerous illness through which he had passed.  It had made him set a smaller value on his earthly possessions, from which he might be separated at any moment.  When he answered Paul, it was in a manner which our hero did not expect.

“Never mind.  I can afford to lose it.  I have no doubt he did what he could.”

“But I have come to pay it, sir,” said Paul.

“You!” exclaimed ’Squire Conant, in the greatest astonishment.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where did you get the money?”

“I earned it, sir.”

“But you are very young.  How could you have earned so much?”

Paul frankly told the story of his struggles; how for years he had practised a pinching economy, in order to redeem his father’s memory from reproach.

’Squire Conant listened attentively.

“You are a good boy,” he said, at length.

“Shall you have anything left after paying this money?”

“No, sir; but I shall soon earn more.”

“Still, you ought to have something to begin the world with.  You shall pay me half the money, and I will cancel the note.”

“But, sir,——­”

“Not a word.  I am satisfied, and that is enough.  If I hadn’t lent your father the money, I might have invested it with the rest, and lost all.”

’Squire Conant produced the note from a little trunk of papers, and handed it to Paul, who paid him the amount which he had stipulated, expressing at the same time his gratitude for his unexpected generosity.

“Never mind about thanks, my boy,” said ’Squire Conant:  “I am afraid I have loved money too well heretofore.  I hope I am not too old to turn over a new leaf.”