praised!" said the farmer, fervently.

"I don't think Squire Carter will say that."

CHAPTER XXXVII.

CONCLUSION.

A little before twelve o'clock on the following day, Squire Carter rang
the bell at the farmhouse door. He was dressed with scrupulous neatness,
and there was a smile of triumphant anticipation on his face.

Andy answered the bell.

"Walk in, squire," he said.

"Ha! So you are home, Andy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ahem! Your father has been unfortunate."

"Then you intend to foreclose?"

"Yes; I need the money and must have it."

"Isn't that rather hard on an old neighbor?"

"You are a boy, Andy, and don't understand. Business is business."

"Well, come in."

Mr. and Mrs. Grant were sitting by the fireplace. They looked calm, not
sorrowful, as the squire anticipated.

"Ahem! My friends, I am sorry for you!" said the squire, in a
perfunctory way. "Life is full of disappointments, as we read in the
Scriptures."

"What do you propose to do with the farm, squire?" asked the farmer,
calmly.

"I may sell it, if I can find a purchaser. I haven't thought much about
it."

"That is right, squire. It isn't well to count your chickens before they
are hatched."

It was Andy who spoke.

"Andrew, you are very flippant," said the squire, displeased. "I
apprehend that there is very little doubt as to my having the farm to
sell."

"What do you suppose is going to become of my father?"

"That is not for me to say. If I run the farm I may hire him to work on
it."

"He has made up his mind to work on it."

"With or without my permission?" said the squire, with a sneer.

"Exactly so."

"I don't understand you," said the squire, with dignified displeasure.

"I presume not, but you will understand better when I say that he stands
prepared to pay off the mortgage, and the farm will remain his."

"Impossible!" ejaculated the squire, turning pale.

"Quite possible, sir. Have you the mortgage with you?"

"Yes."

"Here is a release which you will please sign. Father, you had better
pay the squire at once."

Mr. Grant took out a big wallet, and counted out thirty
one-hundred-dollar bills.

"I believe that is correct, squire," he said.

"No, it isn't. You haven't paid the interest," snarled the squire.

"Here is another hundred dollars--that will cover it."

Ten minutes later Squire Carter left the farmhouse with a heavy frown
upon his face. He was bitterly disappointed, and the money di