Four thousand dollars! What a
lot of money!"
"No, my child, you cannot understand it now, but you will some day," and
as Mr. Westmore turned his face towards the window a tear might have been
detected stealing slowly down his furrowed cheek.
Chapter VII
The Farringtons
Silas Farrington flung himself out of his sleigh and handed the reins to a
young man who had come forth from the store.
"What are ye so slow about?" he snarled. "Here I've been callin' fer the
last five minutes. Why don't ye hustle when I call?"
"I was running molasses," came the surly reply, "and how could I leave--"
"There now, no back talk; I never allow it. Put up the horse, an' don't
spend all day about it, either."
With these words Farrington made his way to the house, leaving the young
man inwardly cursing his unjust master.
"Ye're late, Si," a voice exclaimed, as he opened the door and entered.
"We've been waitin' fer ye a full hour or more."
"I couldn't help it," Farrington replied. "I was delayed."
"An' how much did ye pay fer the farm, Si?"
"Farm be--be--hanged! I'm sick of it."
"But didn't ye git it, Si?" his wife persisted.
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