Two hogsheads for hot water were half buried in the ground. A big iron pot with a fire beneath it was heating water and a long fire of logs heaped over with big stones was near by. When hot, the stones were to be put into the cooling water to raise the temperature, it being easier to do this than to replace the water in the pot. The hogs to be killed were grunting and squealing in a big pen near the barn. Abner Daniel and old man Bishop were superintending these preparations when Alan came from the house to say that Rayburn Miller had just ridden out to see them on business. “I think it's the railroad,” Alan informed his father, who always displayed signs of almost childish excitement when the subject came up. They found Miller in the parlor being entertained by Adele, who immediately left the room on their arrival. They all sat down before the cheerful fire. Miller showed certain signs of embarrassment at first, but gradually threw them off and got down to the matter in hand quite with his office manner. “I've got a proposition to make to you, Mr. Bishop,” he opened up, with a slight flush on his face. “I've been making some inquiries about Wilson, and I am more and more convinced that he intends to freeze us out--or you rather--by holding off till you are obliged to sell your property for a much lower figure than you now ask him for it.” “You think so,” grunted Bishop, pulling a long face. “Yes; but what I now want to do is to show him, indirectly, that we are independent of him.” “Huh!” ejaculated Bishop, even more dejectedly--“huh! I say!” Alan was looking at Miller eagerly, as if trying to divine the point he was about to make. “I must confess,” he smiled, “that I can' t well see how we can show independence right now.” “Well, I think I see a way,” said Miller, the flush stealing over his face again. “You see, there is no doubt that Wilson is on his high horse simply because he thinks he could call on you for that twenty-five thousand dollars and put you to some trouble raising it without--without, I say, throwing your land on the market. I can' t blame him,” Miller went on, smiling, “for it's only what any business man would do, who is out for profit, but we must not knuckle to him.” “Huh, huh!” Bishop grunted, in deeper despondency. “How do you propose to get around the knuckling process?” asked Alan, who had caught the depression influencing his parent. “I'd simply take up that note,” said the lawyer. “You know, under the contract, we are privileged to pay it to-morrow if we wish. It would simply paralyze him. He's so confident that you can' t take it up that he has not even written to ask if you want to renew it or not. Yes; he's confident that he 'll rake in that security--so confident that he has been, as you know, secretly buying land near yours.” Old Bishop's eyes were wide open. In the somewhat darkened room the firelight reflected in them showed like illuminated blood-spots. He said nothing, but breathed heavily.