ame farther
away from Aldercliffe than I intended. When I got to this point the sun
was so pleasant here on the float that I lingered."

Nodding, Ted fitted the key into the padlock, turned it, and rolled the
doors apart, allowing Mr. Fernald to pass within. The mill owner was a
large man and as he stalked about, peering at the fireplace with its
andirons of wrought metal, examining the chintz hangings, and casting
his eye over the books on the shelf, he seemed to fill the entire room.
Then suddenly, having completed his circuit of the interior, he failed
to bow himself out as Ted expected and instead dropped into the big
leather armchair and proceeded to draw out a cigar.

"I suppose you don't mind if I smoke," said he, at the same instant
lighting a match.

"Oh, no. Dad always smokes," replied the boy.

"Your father is in our shipping room, they tell me."

"Yes, sir."

"Where did you live before you came here?"

"Vermont."

"Vermont, eh?" commented the older man with interest. "I was born in
Vermont."

"Were you?" Ted ejaculated. "I didn't know that."

"Yes, I was born in Vermont," mused Mr. Fernald slowly. "Born on a
farm, as you no doubt were, and helped with the haying, milking, and
other chores."

"There were plenty of them," put in the boy, forgetting for the moment
whom he was addressing.

"That's right!" was the instant and hearty response. "There was
precious little time left afterward for playing marbles or flying
kites."

The lad standing opposite chuckled understandingly and the capitalist
continued to puff at his cigar.

"Spring was the best time," observed he after a moment, "to steal off
after the plowing and planting were done and wade up some brook----"

"Where the water foamed over the rocks," interrupted the boy, with
sparkling eyes. "We had a brook behind our house. There were great flat
rocks in it and further up in the woods some fine, deep trout holes.
All you had to do was to toss a line in there and the next you
knew----"

"Something would jump for it," cried the millionaire, breaking in turn
into the conversation and rubbing his hands. "I remember hauling a
two-pounder out of just such a spot. Jove, but he was a fighter! I can
see him now, thrashing about in the water. I wasn't equipped with a rod
of split bamboo, a reel, and scores of flies in those days. A hook, a
worm, and a stick you'd cut yourself was your outfit. Nevertheless I
managed to land my fish for all that.