er broke this with an
abrupt, energetic exclamation and a sharp glance:--

"If hemp keeps up to what it is now, I am going to put in more."

"Where?" asked the son, quietly. "I don't see that we have any ground
to spare."

"I'll take the woods."

"FATHER!" cried David, wheeling on him.

"I'll take the woods!" repeated his father, with a flash of anger, of
bitterness. "And if I'm not able to hire the hands to clear it, then
I'll rent it. Bailey wants it. He offered twenty-five dollars an acre.
Or I'll sell it," he continued with more anger, more bitterness. "He'd
rather buy it than rent."

"How could we do without the woods?" inquired the son, looking like one
dazed,--"without the timber and the grazing?"

"What will we do without the woods?" cried his father, catching up the
words excitedly. "What will we do without the FARM?"

"What do you mean by all this, father? What is back of it?" cried
David, suddenly aroused by vague fears.

"I mean," exclaimed the father, with a species of satisfaction in his
now plain words, "I mean that Bailey wants to buy the farm. I mean that
he urges me to sell out for my own good! tells me I must sell out! must
move! leave Kentucky! go to Missouri--like other men when they fail."

"Go to Missouri," echoed the wife with dismal resignation, smiling at
her husband.

"Have you sold it?" asked David, with flushed, angry face.

"No."

"Nor promised?"

"No!"

"Then, father, don't! Bailey is trying again to get the farm away from
you. You and mother shall never sell your home and move to Missouri on
my account."

The son sat looking into the fire, controlling his feelings. The father
sat looking at the son, making a greater effort to control his. Both of
them realized the poverty of the place and the need of money.

The hour was already past the father's early bed-time. He straightened
himself up now, and turning his back, took off his coat, hung it on the
back of his chair, and began to unbutton his waistcoat, and rub his
arms. The mother rose, and going to the high-posted bed in a corner of
the room, arranged the pillows, turned down the covers, and returning,
sat provisionally on the edge of her chair and released her breastpin.
David started up.

"Mother, give me a candle, will you?"

He went over with her to the closet, waited while she unlocked it and,
thrusting her arm deep into its disordered depths, searched till she
drew out a candle. No good-night was spoken;