nspired merely because
she wished Mother to be supplied with those "luxuries and conveniences"
she had mentioned. Well, my question was answered; this was the
difference my working or idling made to her. And, for a minute or two,
I had been foolish enough to fancy her interested, as a friend, in my
success or failure in life. I might have known better. And yet, because
of the novelty of the thing, because I had so few friends, I felt a pang
of disappointment.

But I resolved she should not know she had disappointed me. I might have
been a fool, but I would keep my foolishness a secret.

"No, Miss Colton," I said, with a smile, "I haven't sold yet."

"Father said he saw you at the bank. Did he say anything about the
land?"

"He said his offer was still open, that was all."

"You are resolved not to sell."

"To him? Yes, I am resolved. I think he knows it. I tried to make it
plain."

"You say to him. Are you thinking of selling to any one else? To the
town?"

"No. Probably not to any one. Certainly not to your father or the town."

She looked at me, with an odd expression, and seemed to hesitate.

"Mr. Paine," she said, slowly, "would you resent my giving you another
bit of--advice?"

"Not at all. What is it this time?"

"Why, nothing. I must not give you any advice at all. I won't. Instead
I'll give you one of Father's pet proverbs. It isn't an elegant one, but
he is very fond of repeating it. 'There are more ways of killing a cat
than choking it to death with butter.' There! you will admit it is not
elegant."

"But Miss Colton! Killing a cat! What in the world?"

"You mustn't ask me. I shouldn't have said even that. But remember, it
is father's pet proverb. I must go. Please give my love to your mother
and tell her I shall call again soon. Good-by."

She walked briskly away and did not look back. I went home. I thought a
great deal during the evening and until late that night. When, at last,
I did go to bed I had not made much progress in the problem of the cat,
but I did believe that there was a rat in the vicinity. I was beginning
to scent one. If I was not mistaken it called itself the Bay Shore
Development Company.

I said nothing to Mother of the new proposal to buy our land, but next
morning at the bank I wrote a letter to the cashier of a bank in Boston,
one of our correspondents, and with which our little institution was on
very friendly terms. I asked the cashier to make some guarded inquir