uritan farmer would be suspicious of
sympathy. The man had been near to death himself, was compelled to spend
part of the summer, his bread-earning season, in a hospital, and yet no
appeal or word of complaint had crossed his lips.

"Mr. Meader," said Austen, "I came over here to tell you that in my
opinion you are entitled to heavy damages from the railroad, and to
advise you not to accept a compromise. They will send some one to you and
offer you a sum far below that which you ought in justice to receive, You
ought to fight this case."

"How am I going to pay a lawyer, with a mortgage on my farm?" demanded
Mr. Meader.

"I'm a lawyer," said Austen, "and if you'll take me, I'll defend you
without charge."

"Ain't you the son of Hilary Vane?"

"Yes."

"I've heard of him a good many times," said Mr. Meader, as if to ask what
man had not. "You're railroad, ain't ye?"

Mr. Meader gazed long and thoughtfully into the young man's face, and the
suspicion gradually faded from the farmer's blue eyes.

"I like your looks," he said at last. "I guess you saved my life. I'm
--I'm much obliged to you."

When Mr. Tooting arrived later in the day, he found Mr. Meader willing to
listen, but otherwise strangely non-committal. With native shrewdness,
the farmer asked him what office he came from, but did not confide in Mr.
Tooting the fact that Mr. Vane's son had volunteered to wring more money
from Mr. Vane's client than Mr. Tooting offered him. Considerably
bewildered, that gentleman left the hospital to report the affair to the
Honourable Hilary, who, at intervals during the afternoon, found himself
relapsing into speculation.

Inside of a somewhat unpromising shell, Mr. Zeb Meader was a human being,
and no mean judge of men and motives. As his convalescence progressed,
Austen Vane fell into the habit of dropping in from time to time to chat
with him, and gradually was rewarded by many vivid character sketches of
Mr. Meader's neighbours in Mercer and its vicinity. One afternoon, when
Austen came into the ward, he found at Mr. Meader's bedside a basket of
fruit which looked too expensive and tempting to have come from any
dealer's in Ripton.

"A lady came with that," Mr. Meader explained. "I never was popular
before I was run over by the cars. She's be'n here twice. When she
fetched it to-day, I kind of thought she was up to some, game, and I
didn't want to take it."

"Up to some game?" repeated Austen.

"Well, I don't