"A thousand dollars." Jerome said that with a gasp of horror and admiration at the vastness of it. Sometimes to him that thousand dollars almost represented infinity, and seemed more than the stars of heaven. His childish brain, which had scarcely contemplated in verity more than a shilling at a time of the coin of the realm, reeled at a thousand dollars. "Well?" observed Squire Merritt, kindly but perplexedly. He wondered vaguely if the boy had come to ask him to pay the mortgage, and reflected how little ready money he had in pocket, for Eben Merritt was not thrifty with his income, which was indeed none too large, and was always in debt himself, though always sure to pay in time. Chances were, if Squire Merritt had had the thousand dollars to hand that morning, he might have thrust it upon the boy, with no further parley, taken his rod and line, and gone forth to his fishing. As it was, he waited for Jerome to proceed, merely adding that he was sorry that his mother did not own the place clear. The plan that the boy unfolded, clumsily but sturdily to the end, he had thought out for himself in the darkness of the night before. The Squire listened. "Who planned this out?" he asked, when Jerome had finished. "I did." "Who helped you?" "Nobody did." "Nobody?" "No, sir." Suddenly Squire Eben Merritt seated himself in the chair which Jerome had vacated, seized the boy, and set him upon his knee. Jerome struggled half in wrath, half in fear, but he could not free himself from that strong grasp. "Sit still," ordered Squire Eben. "How old are you, my boy?" "Goin' on twelve, sir," gasped Jerome. "Only four years older than Lucina. Good Lord!" The Squire's grasp tightened tenderly. The boy did not struggle longer, but looked up with a wonder of comprehensiveness in the bearded face bent kindly over his. "He looks at me the way father use to," thought Jerome. "What made you come to me, my boy?" asked the Squire, presently. "Did you think I could pay the mortgage for you?" Then Jerome colored furiously and threw up his head. "No, _sir_," said he, proudly. "Why, then?" "I came because you are a justice of the peace, and know what law is, and--" "And what?" "I've always heard you were pleasanter-spoken than he was." The Squire laughed. "Pleasant words are cheap coin," said he. "I wish I had something better for your sake, child. Now let me see what it is you propose. That wood-lot of your father's, you say, Doctor Prescott has offered three hundred dollars for." "Yes, sir." The Squire whistled. "Didn't your father think it was worth more than that?" "Yes, sir, but he didn't think he could get any more. He said--" "What did he say?" "He said that a poor seller was the slave of a rich buyer; but I think--" Jerome hesitated. He was not used yet to expressing his independent thought. "Go on," said the Squire.