"Caleb!" exclaimed Philip, "wait a minute; do you mean to tell me that houses in Claybanks rent as low as four dollars, three and a half, three and a third, and even as low as two dollars a month?" "That's what I said. Why, the highest rent ever paid in this town was six dollars a month. The owner tried to stick out for seventy-five a year, but the renter wouldn't stand the extra twenty-five cents a month." Philip put his face in his hands, his elbows on his knees, and said:-- "Six dollars a month! And in New York I paid twenty-five dollars a month for five rooms, and thought myself lucky!" "Twenty--five--dollars--a month!" echoed Caleb. "Why, if it's a fair question, how much money did you make?" "Eighty dollars a month, with a certainty of a twenty per cent increase every year. 'Twasn't much, but I was sure of getting it. From what you've been telling me, I'm not absolutely sure of anything whatever here, unless I do a lot of special and peculiar work--and after I've earned the money by delivering the goods." "Well, your uncle averaged somethin' between three an' four thousan', clear, ev'ry year, an' he come by it honestly, too, but there's no denyin' that he had to work for it. From seven in the mornin' to nine at night in winter; five in the mornin' till sundown in summer, to say nothin' of watchin' the pork-house work till all hours of the night throughout the season--a matter o' two months. He always went to sleep in church Sunday mornin', but the minister didn't hold it agin him. That reminds me: your uncle was a class-leader, an' the brethren are quietly sizin' you up to see if you can take the job where he left off. I hope you'll fetch." "Thank you, Caleb," said Philip, closing his eyes as if to exclude the prospect. "But tell me," he said a moment later, "why my uncle did so much for so little. Don't imagine that I underrate three or four thousand dollars a year, but--money is worth only what it really brings or does. That's the common-sense view of the matter, isn't it?" "Yes; I can't see anythin' the matter with it." "But uncle got nothing for his money but ordinary food, clothes, and shelter, and seems to have worked as hard as any overworked laborer." "Well, I reckon he was doin' what the rest of us do in one way or other; he was countin' on what there might be in the future. He b'lieved in a good time comin'." "Yes,--in heaven, perhaps, but not here." "That's where you're mistaken, for he did expect it here--right here, in Claybanks." Philip looked incredulous, and asked:-- "From what?" "Well, he could remember when Chicago was as small as Claybanks is now, an' had a good deal more swamp land to the acre, too--an' now look at it! He'd seen St. Paul an' Minneapolis when both of 'em together could be hid in a town as big as Claybanks--but now look at 'em!" "But St. Paul and Minneapolis had an immense water-fall and water-power to attract millers of many kinds."