“He is certainly a very fortunate young man,” said the squire, impressed.  “What is his name?”

“Rodney Ropes.”

“The name sounds aristocratic.  I shall be glad to know him.”

“Rodney,” said Mr. Pettigrew.  “I want to introduce you to Squire Sheldon, our richest and most prominent citizen.”

“I am glad to meet you, Squire Sheldon,” said Rodney, offering his hand.

“I quite reciprocate the feeling, Mr. Ropes, but Mr. Pettigrew should not call me a rich man.  I am worth something, to be sure.”

“I should say you were, squire,” said Jefferson.  “Rodney, he is as rich as you are.”

“Oh no,” returned the squire, modestly, “not as rich as that.  Indeed, I hardly know how much I am worth.  As Mr. Pettigrew very justly observed it is not easy to gauge a man’s possessions.  But there is one difference between us.  You, Mr. Ropes, I take it, are not over eighteen.”

“Only sixteen, sir.”

“And yet you are wealthy.  I am rising fifty.  When you come to my age you will be worth much more.”

“Perhaps I may have lost all I now possess,” said Rodney.  “Within a year I have lost fifty thousand dollars.”

“You don’t say so.”

“Yes; it was through a man who had charge of my property.  I think now I shall manage my money matters myself.”

“Doubtless you are right.  That was certainly a heavy loss.  I shouldn’t like to lose so much.  I suppose, however, you had something left?”

“Oh yes,” answered Rodney in an indifferent tone.

“He must be rich to make so little account of fifty thousand dollars,” thought the squire.

“How long do you propose to stay in town, Mr. Pettigrew?” he asked.

“I can’t tell, sir, but I don’t think I can spare more than three or four days.”

“May I hope that you and Mr. Ropes will take supper with me tomorrow evening?”

“Say the next day and we’ll come.  Tomorrow I must go to my uncle’s.”

“Oh very well!”

Squire Sheldon privately resolved to pump Rodney as to the investment of his property.  He was curious to learn first how much the boy was worth, for if there was anything that the squire worshiped it was wealth.  He was glad to find that Mr. Pettigrew had only brought home five hundred dollars, as it was not enough to lift the mortgage on his uncle’s farm.

After they were left alone Jefferson Pettigrew turned to Rodney and said, “Do you mind my leaving you a short time and calling at my uncle’s?”

“Not at all, Mr. Pettigrew.  I can pass my time very well.”

Jefferson Pettigrew directed his steps to an old fashioned farmhouse about half a mile from the village.  In the rear the roof sloped down so that the eaves were only five feet from the ground.  The house was large though the rooms were few in number.

In the sitting room sat an old man and his wife, who was nearly as old.  It was not a picture of cheerful old age, for each looked sad.  The sadness of old age is pathetic for there is an absence of hope, and courage, such as younger people are apt to feel even when they are weighed down by trouble.