than ever a girl had called forth
yet. Jerome adored this kindly Squire, against whom he was always
fiercely on his guard lest he tender him gratuitous favors, and his
indebtedness to whom was his great burden of life.

His Uncle Ozias did not notice him or pause in his harangue. "The
poor ye have always with ye, the poor ye have always with ye," he was
repeating, with a very snarl of sarcasm. "I reckon ye do; an' why?
Why is it that folks had the Man that give that sayin' to the world
with 'em, and made Him suffer and die? It was the same reason for
both. D'ye want to know what 'twas? Well, I'll tell ye--it don't take
a very sharp mind to ferret that out. It don't even take college
larnin'. It is because from the very foundation of this green airth
the rich and the wicked and the proud have had the mastery over it,
an' their horns have been exalted. The Lord knows they've got horns
to their own elevation an' the hurt of others, as much as any horned
animals, though none of us can see 'em sproutin', no matter how hard
we squint."

With that Ozias Lamb gave a quick glance, pointed with driest humor,
from under his bent brows at Simon Basset's great jumble of gray hair
and Doctor Prescott's spidery sprawl of red wig. A subdued and
half-alarmed chuckle ran through the company. Simon Basset chewed
imperturbably, but Doctor Seth Prescott's handsome face was pale with
controlled wrath.

Ozias continued: "I tell ye that is the reason for all the sufferin',
an' the wrongs, an' the crucifixion, on this earth. The rich are the
reason for it all; the rich are the reason for the poor. If the money
wa'n't in one pocket it would be in many; if the bread wa'n't all in
one cupboard there wouldn't be so many empty; if all the garments
wa'n't packed away in one chest there wouldn't so many go bare.
There's money enough, an' food enough, an' clothes enough in this
very town for the whole lot, an' it's the few that holds 'em that
makes the paupers."

Doctor Seth Prescott's mouth was a white line of suppression. Some of
the men exchanged glances of consternation. Cyrus Robinson's clerk,
Samson Loud, leaning over the counter beside his employer, said, "I
swan!" under his breath. As for Cyrus Robinson, he was doubtful
whether or not to order this turbulent spirit out of his domain,
especially since he was no longer a good customer of his, but worked
for and traded with the storekeeper in Dale.

He looked around at his son Elisha, who w