He led the way into the warm store, where there was a glowing fire in the big stove. The frost had been driven to the outer barrier, and the smell of heated boots and fishy garments was heavy upon the air. Washy Gallup, Cap'n Joab, Milt Baker, and Amiel Perdue, as well as others of the usual loungers, encircled the stove. They made room for Cap'n Jonah while the storekeeper himself halted to warm his hands at the fire. "We're in for a spell of Jack Frost, Cap'n Jonah," remarked Washy. "I shouldn't wonder! I shouldn't wonder!" agreed the mariner addressed. But he gave little attention to the several greetings of the loungers. His mind was fixed upon the errand on which he had come. He desired greatly to get Cap'n Abe off into a corner and sound him upon the subject of "foolin' them Pettys." Cap'n Abe was his only hope. He took snuff thoughtfully and rapped his knuckles on the cover of the silver snuffbox. "It was jest such another spell of dry cold as this," began the storekeeper ruminatively, "when Uncle Joe Hanna over to Freedom was turned out o' house an' home years ago by the sheriff. 'Member that, Cap'n Joab?" "Forever an' ever," replied the person addressed. "And ev'rybody else remembers it, too." "Wal--mebbe," agreed Cap'n Abe quite composed. The shuffling of feet, clearing of throats, and other indications of distaste for the expected yarn did not halt him at all. "It was a hi-mighty cold day," as he had himself remarked, and he had his audience in chancery. "Uncle Joe Hanna owned a leetle place where he'd lived all his life, and he mortgaged it to Jonathan Coffin. Coffin was as hard as nails, and his wife, Miz Coffin, was as hard as spikes. Hi-mighty! they was a pair. "Wal, when Uncle Joe Hanna got too old to work much he couldn't keep up the int'rest on the mortgage. Ye know," said Cap'n Abe, genially, "a feller told me once what the word 'mortgage' meant. He said 'mort' was French for 'death' and 'gage' meant a challenge. So, when a feller mortgages his home he challenges death to a set-to--an' death usually wins. I guess that's purty nigh so. "Anyhow, Uncle Joe might jest as well have been up against the 'grim reaper,' as Elder Golightly calls it when he gets right poetic in the pulpit--Uncle Joe might just as well have grappled with death as to have Jonathan Coffin for a creditor. He was turned out, hoss _an'_ foot, an' didn't have a place to lay his head. "Course," pursued Cap'n Abe, "the neighbors took him in, turn an' turn about, and he was made comfortable. But Uncle Joe was proud, and he wanted his rights. He had paid taxes--sech as they was--all his life, and he p'inted out to the selectmen that he was wishful of havin' a home and an abiding place for the rest of his days--sech as it might be--and didn't propose to be driven from piller to post.