."

"You bet she is," said Hiram. "She's worth hundreds of millions of
dollars."

"I think you must mean thousands," remarked Quincy.

"Well, as far as I'm concerned," said Hiram, "when you talk about
millions or thousands of money, one's just the same to me as t'other. I
never seed so much money in my life as I seed since you've been here,
but I don't want you to think I'm beggin' for more."

"No," said Quincy, "I should never impute such a motive to you."

Quincy took a dollar bill from his pocket and held it up before Hiram.

"What's that?" he asked.

"That's one hundred cents," said Hiram, "considerably more than I have
got."

"Well," said Quincy, "if you tell me why Miss Putnam doesn't like
callers I will give you that dollar."

"Stop a minute," replied Hiram. "Soon as we turn this next corner we'll
be in full sight of the grocery store. You can go ahead and I'll slip
'cross lots and come up from behind the store. If Wood thought I'd told
you he would lick me and I'm no fighter. Now about Miss Putnam,"
dropping his voice, "I heard it said, and I guess it's pretty near the
truth, that she is so blamed stuck up and dresses so fine in city
fashions that she is just 'shamed of her old pa and ma and don't want
nobody to see 'em."

"But," asked Quincy, "where did she get her money?"

Hiram answered, "From her only brother. He went down to Boston, made a
pile of money, then died and left it all to Lindy. If what I've told
you ain't gospel truth it's mighty near it. Well, I'll see you later,
Mr. Sawyer."

And Hiram ran down a path that led across the fields.

Quincy turned the corner and walked briskly towards Hill's grocery
store. A dozen or more young men and as many older ones were lounging
about the platform that ran the whole length of the store, for it was a
very mild day in January, and the snow was rapidly leaving under the
influence of what might be called a January thaw.

Quincy walked through the crowd, giving a friendly nod to several faces
that looked familiar, but the names of whose owners were unknown to him.
He entered the store, found a letter from his mother and another from
his sister Gertie, and saying "Good morning" to Mr. Hill, who was the
village postmaster, soon reached the platform again.

As he did so a heavily built young fellow, fully six feet tall and
having a coarse red face, stepped up to him and said brusquely, "I
believe your name's Sawyer."

"Your belief is well founde