rejoined the squire, hastily. "You
wouldn't make enough to pay your rent, or not much more."

"Don't the men in your factory smoke? There's a good many of them. If I
could get their trade----"

"They smoke pipes for the most part," said the squire, hurriedly.
"They'd find cigars too expensive."

"I meant to combine candy with cigars. That would be a help."

"They keep candy at the grocery store, Uncle Jacob."

"I see there isn't much show for me. Now if I only understood your
business, you could give me something to do in the factory, Albert."

"But you don't, and, in fact, Uncle Jacob, it's too hard work for a man
of your age."

"Then what would you advise me to do, Albert?" asked the old man,
earnestly.

Squire Marlowe assumed a thoughtful look. In fact, he was puzzled to
decide how best to get rid of the troublesome old man. To have him
remain in Lakeville was not to be thought of. He would gladly have got
rid of Mrs. Barton and her son, whose relationship to his family was
unfortunately known, but there seemed to be no way clear to that without
the expenditure of money. To have Uncle Jacob for a neighbor, in
addition, would be a source of mortification, not only to himself, but
even more to his wife and Percy, whose aristocratic ideas he well knew.

"I think you told me you had five hundred dollars," he said, after a
pause.

"About that."

"Then I really think it would be the best thing you could do to go back
to California, where you are known, and where you can doubtless obtain
some humble employment which will supply your moderate wants. It won't
cost you much for dress----"

"No, Albert; this coat and vest will do me for best five years longer."

"Just so! That is fortunate. So you see you've only got your board to
pay."

"I might get sick," suggested Uncle Jacob, doubtfully.

"You look pretty healthy. Besides, you'll have part of your five hundred
dollars left, you know."

"That's so! What a good calculator you are, Albert! Besides, if things
came to the worst, there's that five hundred dollars I lent your father
twenty-seven years ago. No doubt you'd pay me back, and----"

"I don't know what you refer to," said Squire Marlowe, coldly.

"Surely you haven't forgot the time when your father was so driven for
money, when you were a lad of fifteen, and I let him have all I had
except about fifty dollars that I kept for a rainy day."

"This is news to me, Uncle Jacob," said the squire, with