hough she had never expressed it. He had gained
an indefinite knowledge of it through old Joel Quimber and Elmer Wiggins
and Mrs. Milton Caukins, a distant relative of his father's. To be sure,
Louis Champney might have left him his hunting-piece, which as a boy he
had coveted, just for the sake of his name--

He stopped short in his speculations for he heard voices in the lane.
The cows were entering it and coming up to the milking shed. The lane
led up from the low-lying lake meadows, knee deep with timothy and
clover, and was fenced on both sides from the apple orchards which
arched and overshadowed its entire length. The sturdy over-reaching
boughs hung heavy with myriads of green balls. Now and then one dropped
noiselessly on the thick turf in the lane, and a noble Holstein mother,
ebony banded with ivory white, her swollen cream-colored bag and
dark-blotched teats flushed through and through by the delicate rose of
a perfectly healthy skin, lowered her meek head and, snuffing largely,
caught sideways as she passed at the enticing green round.

At the end of this lane there swung into view a tall loose-jointed
figure which the low strong July sunshine threw into bold relief. It was
Romanzo Caukins, one of the Colonel's numerous family, a boy of sixteen
who had been bound out recently to the mistress of Champ-au-Haut upon
agreement of bed, board, clothes, three terms of "schooling" yearly, and
the addition of thirty dollars to be paid annually to the Colonel.

The payment of this amount, by express stipulation, was to be made at
the end of each year until Romanzo should come into his majority. By
this arrangement, Mrs. Champney assured to herself the interest on the
aforesaid thirty dollars, and congratulated herself on the fact that
such increment might be credited to Milton Caukins as a minus quantity.

Champney leaped the bars and went down the lane to meet him.

"Hello, Roman, how are you?"

The boy's honest blue eyes, that seemed always to be looking forward in
a chronic state of expectancy for the unexpected, beamed with goodness
and goodwill. He wiped his hands on his overalls and clasped Champney's.

"Hullo, Champ, when'd you come?"

"Only yesterday. I didn't see you about when I was here in the
afternoon. How do you like your job?"

The youth made an uncouth but expressive sign towards the milk shed.
"Sh--Tave'll hear you. He and I ain't been just on good terms lately;
but 'tain't my fault," he add