eir rags, an'
your delicate ears won't hear their groans, an' your delicate eyes
an' nose won't see nor scent their sores; where you yourselves, with
your own hands, won't have to nurse an' tend 'em. I tell ye, that
rich man in Scriptur' was a damned fool not to start a poorhouse, an'
not have Lazaruses layin' round his gate. He'd have been more
comfortable, an' _mebbe_ he'd have cheated hell so.

"You call it givin'--_givin'!_ You call livin' in that house over
there in the holler, workin' with rheumatic old joints, an' wearin'
stiff old fingers to the bone, not for honest hire, but for the bread
of charity, a gift, do ye? I tell ye, every pauper in that there
house that's got his senses after what he's been through, knows that
he pays for every cent he costs the town, either by the sweat of his
brow an' the labor of his feeble hands, or by the independence of his
soul."

Then Simon Basset spat, and shifted his quid and spoke. "Tell ye what
'tis, all of ye," said he--"it's mighty easy talkin' an' givin' away
gab instead of dollars. I'll bet ye anything ye'll put up that there
ain't one of ye out of the whole damned lot that 'ain't got any money
that would give it away if he had it."

"I would," declared a clear young voice from the outskirts of the
crowd. Everybody turned and looked, and saw Jerome beside Squire
Merritt, his handsome face all eager and challenging. Jerome was
nearly as tall as the Squire, though more slender, and there was not
a handsomer young fellow in the village. He had, in spite of his
shoemaking, a carriage like a prince, having overcome by some
erectness of his spirit his hereditary stoop.

Simon Basset looked at him. "If ye had a big fortune left ye, s'pose
ye'd give it all away, would ye?"

"Yes, sir, I would." Jerome blushed a little with a brave modesty
before the concentrated fire of eyes, but he never unbent his proud
young neck as he faced Simon Basset.

"S'pose ye'd give away every dollar?"

"Yes, sir, I would--every dollar."

"Lord!" ejaculated Simon Basset, and his bristling, grimy jaws worked
again.

Squire Eben Merritt looked at Jerome almost as he might have done at
his pretty Lucina. "By the Lord Harry, I believe you would, boy!" he
said, under his breath.

"Such idle talk is not to the purpose," Doctor Seth Prescott said,
with a stately aside to the minister, who nodded with the utter
accordance of motion of any satellite.

But Simon Basset spoke again, and as he