ed dignity; "maybe I did. But that's no reason
why you should set there and heave my sufferin's in my face."

"What is the man talkin' about now? I didn't heave 'em in your face.
They come there themselves, same as sore throat sufferin's generally do,
and if you hadn't waded around in the snow with leaky boots, because
you was too lazy to take 'em to the shoemaker's to be patched, they
wouldn't."

Lute drew back from the table. "It's no use!" he declared, "a man can't
even be sick in peace in this house. Some wives would have been sorry to
see their husbands with one foot in the grave."

"Your feet was in the cookstove oven most of the time. There! there! the
more you talk the further from home you get. You started in with Roscoe
and the bank and you're in the grave already. If I was you I'd quit
afore I went any further. Land knows where you might fetch up if you
kept on! I . . . Mercy on us! who's at the kitchen door this time in the
mornin'?"

Her husband, ever curious, was on his way to answer the knock already.
He came back, a moment later, sputtering with excitement.

"It's that Mr. butler, the Johnson over to Mr. Colton's," he whispered.
"I mean it's that Jutler--that--There, Dorindy! you see what sort of a
state your hectorin' has worked me into! It's that parson critter who
opens Colton's door for him, that's who 'tis. And he wants to see Ros. I
tried to find out what for, but he wouldn't tell."

Even Dorinda showed surprise. She looked at the clock, "This hour of the
mornin'!" she exclaimed; "what in the world--?"

I hastened to the kitchen, closing the dining-room door behind me
just in time to prevent Lute's following me. Johnson, the butler,
was standing on the mica slab at the threshold inspecting our humble
premises with lofty disdain.

"Mr. Colton sent this to you, sir," he said, handing me an envelope. "He
wishes you to send a receipt by me."

I took the envelope and, stepping back out of sight, tore it open.
Inside was a check on a New York bank for four thousand dollars. It was
made payable to "Bearer." With it was this brief note:

Dear Paine:

This is the best I can do for you, as I haven't the money on hand. Cash
it yourself, take out your thirty-five hundred and hold the additional
five hundred until I, or one of the family, call for it. I made the
thing payable to Bearer because I imagined you would prefer it that way.
Send me some sort of receipt by Johnson; anything will do. I wi