"Well, he brought it on himself," answered Abner Balberry, doggedly. "He had no right to try to set the barn afire. Next thing you know, Mrs. Felton, he'll be a-trying to burn us up in our beds." "Oh, I don't think Nat would be as bad as that." "You don't know thet boy as well as I do. He's sly an' stubborn, and he'll do 'most anything when he's crossed. But I'll fix him! Jest you wait an' see!" "How far will you follow him?" "As far as it's necessary. If he thinks he can git away from me he'll find out, sooner or later, he is mistaken." "You don't know when you'll be back?" "No. It may be I'll have to wait in town till the squire opens his office--that is, if I can't find Nat." "But you are going to look for him yourself first?" "Yes." With this answer Abner Balberry drove off in the darkness. Mrs. Felton watched him and heaved a long and deep sigh. "Too bad!" she murmured. "If he catches Nat it will surely go hard with that boy. Well, I didn't think he was bad enough to set fire to a barn!" CHAPTER V THE SALE OF A COW Totally unconscious of what had taken place at the farm after his departure, Nat, in company with his friend, Sam Price, proceeded on his way to Brookville. On the journey Nat told his friend of many things that had happened to him and of his uncle's meanness. "I don't wonder you want a change," said Sam. "I'd want a change myself." At last they came in sight of Brookville, and Nat drove the cow to the yard of Jackson the butcher. The butcher was a fat, good-natured man of middle age. But he was a shrewd business man and first-class at driving a bargain. "What do you want, boy?" he asked of Nat. "Do you want to buy a cow, Mr. Jackson? Sam says you were out looking for cows day before yesterday." "I did want cows then, but I've got nearly all I want now." "Oh, then I'll go elsewhere," answered Nat. "Hold on, not so fast. What do you want for your cow?" "Thirty dollars." "Phew! you don't want much." "She's worth it. You can milk her or use her for meat, just as you choose." "Whose cow is she?" "Mine." "Yours?" And the butcher gazed at Nat curiously. "Yes. I've owned her ever since she was a little calf." "And now you are tired of her?" "Not exactly that, but I want to use the money. Will you buy her?" "Yes, but not for thirty dollars." "How much will you give?" "Twenty dollars." "I don't care to sell for twenty dollars." "That's the best I can do." "Then I'll have to go elsewhere. Come, Jennie," and Nat turned to drive the cow from the butcher's yard again. "Hold on!" cried the meat man. "I'll give you twenty-two dollars." "Make it twenty-five and I'll accept. I can't take less. I ought to get thirty dollars." There was some more talk, and in the end, the butcher agreed to pay twenty-five dollars and did so. He wanted a receipt, and Nat wrote it out for him. "So you are Nat Nason," said the butcher. "I used to know your father. A very nice man." "He was a nice man."