and installed him in charge of the premises; then drove to the
almshouse with all the surplus butter and eggs on hand. Tom Watterly
arrived at the door with his fast-trotting horse at the same time, and
cried, "Hello, Jim! Just in time. I'm a sort of grass widower
today--been taking my wife out to see her sister. Come in and take pot
luck with me and keep up my spirits."

"Well, now, Tom," said Holcroft, shaking hands, "I'm glad, not that
your wife's away, although it does make me downhearted to contrast your
lot and mine, but I'm glad you can give me a little time, for I want to
use that practical head of yours--some advice, you know."

"All right. Nothing to do for an hour or two but eat dinner and smoke
my pipe with you. Here, Bill! Take this team and feed 'em."

"Hold on," said Holcroft, "I'm not going to sponge on you. I've got
some favors to ask, and I want you to take in return some butter half
spoiled in the making and this basket of eggs. They're all right."

"Go to thunder, Holcroft! What do you take me for? When you've filled
your pipe after dinner will you pull an egg out of your pocket and say,
'That's for a smoke?' No, no, I don't sell any advice to old friends
like you. I'll buy your butter and eggs at what they're worth and have
done with 'em. Business is one thing, and sitting down and talking
over an old crony's troubles is another. I'm not a saint, Jim, as you
know--a man in politics can't be--but I remember when we were boys
together, and somehow thinking of those old days always fetches me.
Come in, for dinner is a-waiting, I guess."

"Well, Tom, saint or no saint, I'd like to vote for you for gov'nor."

"This aint an electioneering trick, as you know. I can play them off
as well as the next feller when there's need, kiss the babies and all
that."

Dinner was placed on the table immediately, and in a few moments the
friends were left alone. Then Holcroft related in a half comic, half
serious manner his tribulations with the help. Tom sat back in his
chair and roared at the account of the pitched battle between the two
widows and the final smoking out of Mrs. Mumpson, but he reproached his
friend for not having horsewhipped Lemuel Weeks. "Don't you remember,
Jim, he was a sneaking, tricky chap when we were at school together? I
licked him once, and it always does me good to think of it."

"I own it takes considerable to rile me to the point of striking a man,
especially on