“They have to buy books and magazines, and entertain missionaries, and hire teams to go on exchanges.” “That's something,” admitted the deacon. “Maybe it amounts to twenty or thirty dollars a year.” “More likely a hundred,” said Grant. “That would be awful extravagant sinful waste. If I was a minister, I'd be more keerful.” “Well, Deacon Gridley, I don't want to argue with you. I came to see if you hadn't collected some money for father. Mr. Tudor has sent in his bill, and he wants to be paid.” “How much is it?” “Sixty-seven dollars and thirty-four cents.” “You don't tell me!” said the deacon, scandalized. “You folks must be terrible extravagant.” Grant hardly knew whether to be more vexed or amused. “If wanting to have enough to eat is extravagant,” he said, “then we are.” “You must live on the fat of the land, Grant.” “We haven't any of us got the gout, nor are likely to have,” answered Grant, provoked. “But let us come back to business. Have you got any money for father?” Now it so happened that Deacon Gridley had fifty dollars collected, but he thought he knew where he could let it out for one per cent, for a month, and he did not like to lose the opportunity. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, Grant,” he answered, “but folks are slow about payin' up, and--” “Haven't you got any money collected?” asked Grant, desperately. “I'll tell you what I'll do,” said the deacon, with a bright idea. “I've got fifty dollars of my own--say for a month, till I can make collections.” “That would be very kind,” said Grant, feeling that he had done the deacon an injustice. “Of course,” the deacon resumed, hastily, “I should have to charge interest. In fact, I was goin' to lend out the money to a neighbor for a month at one per cent; but I'd just as lieve let your father have it at that price.” “Isn't that more than legal interest?” asked Grant. “Well, you see, money is worth good interest nowadays. Ef your father don't want it, no matter. I can let the other man have it.” Grant rapidly calculated that the interest would only amount to fifty cents, and money must be had. “I think father'll agree to your terms,” he said. “I'll let you know this afternoon.” “All right, Grant. It don't make a mite of difference to me, but if your father wants the money he'll have to speak for it to-day.” “I'll see that the matter is attended to,” said Grant, and he went on his way, pleased with the prospect of obtaining money for their impoverished household, even on such hard terms. Next he made his way to Mr. Tudor's store. It was one of those country variety stores where almost everything in the way of house supplies can be obtained, from groceries to dry goods. Mr. Tudor was a small man, with a parchment skin and insignificant features. He was in the act of weighing out a quantity of sugar for a customer when Grant entered. Grant waited till the shopkeeper was at leisure. “Did you want to see me, Grant?” said Tudor.