as the
master in an accession of impatient scepticism was about to break in
upon him, "it ain't all." Then dropping his voice to a tremulous and
almost funereal climax, he went on:--

"'Thus we see that pashent indurstry is Rewarded in Spite of Mining
Rools and Reggylashuns, and Predgudisses agin Furrin Labor is played out
and fleeth like a shad-or contenueyeth not long in One Spot, and that a
Man may apear to be off no Account and yet Emass that witch is far abov
rubles and Fadith not Away.

"'Hoppin' for a continneyance

"'of your fevors I remain,

"'Yours to command,

"'BENJ D'AUBIGNY."'

The gloomy satisfaction with which Uncle Ben regarded this peroration--a
satisfaction that actually appeared to be equal to the revelation
itself--only corroborated the master's indignant doubts.

"Come," he said, impulsively taking the paper from Uncle Ben's reluctant
hand, "how much of this is a concoction of yours and Rupe's--and how
much is a true story? Do you really mean?"--

"Hold on, Mr. Ford!" interrupted Uncle Ben, suddenly fumbling in the
breast-pocket of his red shirt, "I reckoned on your being a little hard
with me, remembering our first talk 'bout these things--so I allowed I'd
bring you some proof." Slowly extracting a long legal envelope from his
pocket, he opened it, and drew out two or three crisp certificates of
stock, and handed them to the master.

"Ther's one hundred shares made out to Benj Daubigny. I'd hev brought
you over the deed of the land too, but ez it's rather hard to read
off-hand, on account of the law palaver, I've left it up at the shanty
to tackle at odd times by way of practising. But ef you like we'll go up
thar, and I'll show it to you."

Still haunted by his belief in Uncle Ben's small duplicities, Mr. Ford
hesitated. These were certainly bona fide certificates of stock made out
to "Daubigny." But he had never actually accepted Uncle Ben's
statement of his identity with that person, and now it was offered as a
corroboration of a still more improbable story. He looked at Uncle Ben's
simple face slightly deepening in color under his scrutiny--perhaps with
conscious guilt.

"Have you made anybody your confidant? Rupe, for instance?" he asked
significantly.

"In course not," replied Uncle Ben with a slight stiffening of wounded
pride. "On'y yourself, Mr. Ford, and the young feller Stacey from the
bank--ez was obligated to know it. In fact, I wos kalkilatin' to ask you
to help me