"What a stiff, disobliging boy you are!" exclaimed Brandon, angrily. "Why can't you tell me yourself?" "I think your father would prefer to tell you himself." "Dean you can't want that button. I'll give you twenty-five cents for it." "I never give away gifts," returned Dean. When Brandon later on plied his father with questions the latter declined to gratify his curiosity. "But why did you give Dean the sleeve button, papa?" "As a reward for his honesty. There, I'm tired of the whole subject, and prefer to drop it." "I wish you had given me the sleeve button." "I'll buy you a new pair when I go to Philadelphia. Will that do?" Brandon was very well pleased with this promise, and dropped the subject. When all the family had retired, Squire Bates took from a secret drawer in his desk the mate of the missing sleeve button—its counterpart in every particular. "I must get rid of this," he said. "In connection with that boy's story its discovery in my possession would be a damaging piece of evidence." CHAPTER XII. DEAN'S NEW PLANS. The next morning Squire Bates rose half an hour before breakfast, and took a walk in the garden behind the house. He had his cane with him, which was unusual, as he was not leaving his own grounds. He proceeded to the lower end of the garden, and then, thrusting the point of the cane into the soft loam, made in this way a round hole, perhaps eight inches deep, into which he carefully dropped the solitary sleeve button, and then filled up the hole again. "There," said he to himself in a tone of satisfaction, "that disposes of the button. Now Dean Dunham can say what he likes, he can't throw suspicion on me." As he re-entered the house he met Brandon just coming downstairs. "You're up early, papa," he said. "Yes, I was tired of the bed and got up a few minutes earlier than usual." "Have you been out?" "Only walking in the garden a few minutes." "Haven't you got a mortgage on Adin Dunham's place?" "Yes." "Suppose he doesn't pay up?" "I don't think he is able to pay up." "Can't you foreclose the mortgage?" "Yes, but I shouldn't like to worry the old man—at present." "I was thinking of Dean. He don't treat me with any respect. He doesn't seem to know that you could turn the whole family out of doors." "You don't like Dean, I infer." "No, I don't," said Brandon, bluntly. "He is rather independent for a boy in his circumstances," said the squire, slowly. "Sometime he may regret it." Squire Bates raised his eyebrows slightly, and his words conveyed a vague threat. "However," he added, "he may become more sensible, and understand his position better. Let us hope he will." Brandon was not slow in communicating what had been said to Dean. The next time they had a difference he said: "You'd better keep good friends with me, Dean Dunham." "Why," asked Dean, struck by his tone. "Because my father's got a mortgage on your uncle's place, and I may get him to turn you all out into the street."