"You call it givin'--_givin'!_ You call livin' in that house over there in the holler, workin' with rheumatic old joints, an' wearin' stiff old fingers to the bone, not for honest hire, but for the bread of charity, a gift, do ye? I tell ye, every pauper in that there house that's got his senses after what he's been through, knows that he pays for every cent he costs the town, either by the sweat of his brow an' the labor of his feeble hands, or by the independence of his soul." Then Simon Basset spat, and shifted his quid and spoke. "Tell ye what 'tis, all of ye," said he--"it's mighty easy talkin' an' givin' away gab instead of dollars. I'll bet ye anything ye'll put up that there ain't one of ye out of the whole damned lot that 'ain't got any money that would give it away if he had it." "I would," declared a clear young voice from the outskirts of the crowd. Everybody turned and looked, and saw Jerome beside Squire Merritt, his handsome face all eager and challenging. Jerome was nearly as tall as the Squire, though more slender, and there was not a handsomer young fellow in the village. He had, in spite of his shoemaking, a carriage like a prince, having overcome by some erectness of his spirit his hereditary stoop. Simon Basset looked at him. "If ye had a big fortune left ye, s'pose ye'd give it all away, would ye?" "Yes, sir, I would." Jerome blushed a little with a brave modesty before the concentrated fire of eyes, but he never unbent his proud young neck as he faced Simon Basset. "S'pose ye'd give away every dollar?" "Yes, sir, I would--every dollar." "Lord!" ejaculated Simon Basset, and his bristling, grimy jaws worked again. Squire Eben Merritt looked at Jerome almost as he might have done at his pretty Lucina. "By the Lord Harry, I believe you would, boy!" he said, under his breath. "Such idle talk is not to the purpose," Doctor Seth Prescott said, with a stately aside to the minister, who nodded with the utter accordance of motion of any satellite. But Simon Basset spoke again, and as he spoke he hit the doctor, who sat next him, a hard nudge in his broadcloth side with a sharp elbow. "Stan' ye any amount ye want to put up that that young bob-squirt won't give away a damned dollar, if he ever gits it to give," he said, with a wink of curious confidential scorn. "I do not bet," replied the doctor, shortly. "Lord! ye needn't be pertickler, doctor; it's safe 'nough," returned Simon Basset, with a sly roll of facetious eyes towards the company. The doctor deigned no further reply. "I'll stan' any man in this company anything he'll put up," cried Simon Basset, who was getting aroused to a singular energy. Nobody responded. Squire Eben Merritt, indeed, opened his mouth to speak, then turned it off with a laugh. "I'd make the bet, boy," he whispered to Jerome, "if it were anybody else that proposed it, but that old--"