r Jack could not sleep and dare not pray. He kept thinking of
something in the Bible about "devouring widows' houses." He could not
forget the face of an old Quaker who had met him on the road that day and
said: "Friend Jack, thy ways are crooked before the Lord!" "Maybe they
are," said Jack, "but my money is as straight as anybody's, and my farm
is a good deal nearer straight than it was before I bought the Lundy
place." Jack could not sleep, however, for thinking of the old Quaker and
his solemn words. He tried to think that his possessions were straight
anyhow. When he did sleep, he dreamed he was the young ruler that gave up
Christ for the sake of his money; then he was the rich man in torment. At
last he opened his eyes, and though the sun was shining in at the
windows, he thought things looked curious. The chairs were crooked, so
was the bedstead. The window was crooked, the whole house seemed to be
crooked. Jack got up, and found he was old and crooked himself. The cat
and dog on the crooked hearth were crooked. There was nobody in the house
but Jack. He took his crooked stick, and went out through the crooked
door, down the crooked walk, among the crooked trees, along the wall into
the crooked cemetery, where were crooked graves with the names of his
wife and children over them. As crooked Jack, with his crooked stick,
followed by his crooked dog, took his crooked way back, he met the old
Quaker, who said again: "Friend Jack, thy ways are very crooked." He went
in at a crooked gate, and up the crooked walk among the crooked trees, in
at the crooked door, and sat down on the crooked chair by the crooked
hearth. The crooked dog lay down by him, and the crooked cat mewed. He
opened his crooked money-box and the gold coins were all crooked. "Here I
am," said Jack, "a crooked old man in a crooked old house, with no
friends but this crooked old dog and crooked old cat. What is all my
crooked money worth? What crooked ways I took to get it."

Crooked old Jack felt sick and lay down upon his crooked old bed.
Somehow, his crooked old money-box got upon his breast and seemed to
smother him. Then his crooked account-books piled themselves upon him,
and it seemed impossible for him to breathe. He tried to call out, but
his voice died to a whisper, and the only answer he received was a low
growl from the crooked old dog. Then the crooked old cat mewed.

Just then Jack Grip awoke, and found that all this was a crooked dream;