"Ye see," said Cap'n Abe, "at that time Freedom didn't have no poorfarm. That is, there was a farm but no house onto it an' no provision made for inmates, as the feller said. So they begun boardin' Uncle Joe around at the town expense. Plenty of folks would take him. All but the Widder Blodgett. She was all alone in her house, and although Uncle Joe was nigh eighty, she didn't think she could take him in. The neighbors might talk," added Cap'n Abe, his eyes twinkling. "Wal, Uncle Joe was partic'lar about his food. He'd always been used to hot biscuit three times a day--made 'em himself after his wife died--and he craved milk in his chowder, both fish _an'_ clam; an' good, solid pound cake with plenty aigs in it. "Nobody seemed to suit his appetite but Jonathan Coffin's wife herself. She was a master hand to cook; but as she said, what the selectmen allowed for Uncle Joe's up-keep didn't scurse pay for the grub he et. He wouldn't do a hand's turn of work, bein' a town boarder, and she complained to Jonathan that he'd been smarter if he'd let Uncle Joe live and die in his own house, and waited to git his claws on the old man's prop'ty through sheriff's sale till after Uncle Joe was under the sod. "But by an' by ev'rybody noticed how much nicer the Coffinses began to treat Uncle Joe. They took him to church in their buggy, and bought him tobacker, and a new suit of clo'es. And you could see him sittin' out under the trees in the Coffinses' front yard takin' it easy, an' all. Folks began to say they'd never suspicioned what re'l kind-hearted people Jonathan Coffin and his wife was. They treated Uncle Joe lovely!" Cap'n Abe chuckled reflectively. "Don't you calc'late to go clammin' to-morrow, Milt?" asked Cap'n Joab Beecher weakly. But Mr. Baker had just taken a huge and comforting chew of Brown Mule and was speechless for the moment. So that attempt to head off the storekeeper's story was still-born. "But the old man died finally. Hot biscuit, and milk chowder, and six-aig cake couldn't keep him alive," said Cap'n Abe. "He was long past the allotted time of man, an' the selectmen sartainly were glad to see that account wiped off their books. They give him a nice fun'ral. Jonathan Coffin, they say, helped pay for the extrys. Hadn't had a pauper funeral in Freedom for two generations, so they just spread themselves. "Wal, you'd ha' thought Jonathan an' Miz Coffin had lost a close rel'tive. She went into mournin'--of course it was a veil she'd worn years before when her own pop died--and Jonathan went around with a broad band of crêpe on his arm. Then, the week after Uncle Joe was laid away, they hustled down to Arad Peck, who was a lawyer, and took with 'em an old black satchel Uncle Joe had set gre't store by. It seemed Uncle Joe had made a will in their favor, they'd treated him so nice, and in the satchel was all the old man's private papers.