“And so you started home when you heard it,” he went on, clearing his throat. “That was just like you, you dear fellow! And you haven't come home an hour too soon. I should have been measured for a pine coffin in another week.” The choke was quite in evidence now. “You see, I really couldn't go to Coston's when I thought it all over. I had made up my mind to go for a week or so until I saw this place, and then I determined I would stop with Jemima. I could eke out an existence here on what I had left and still feel like a gentleman, but I couldn't settle down on dear Peggy Coston and be anything but a poltroon. As to my making a living at the law--that was pure moonshine. I haven't opened a law book for twenty years and now it's too late. People of our class”--here he looked away from his companion and talked straight at the foot of the bed--“People of our class my boy,” he repeated slowly--“when they reach the neck and crop period you spoke of, are at the end of their rope. There are then but two things left--either to become the inmate of a poorhouse or to become a sponge. I prefer this bare room as a happy medium, and I am content to stay where I am as long as we three can keep body and soul together. There is--so Pawson told me before I left my house--a little money coming in from a ground rent--a few months off, perhaps, but more than enough to pay Todd back--he gives Jemima every cent of his wages--and when this does come in and I can get out once more, I'm going to order my life so I can make a respectable showing of some kind.” He paused for a moment, fastened his gaze again on Harry, and continued: “As to my going back to Pawson's, I am not altogether sure that that is the wisest thing to do. I may have to leave again as soon as I get comfortably settled in my bed. I turned out at his bidding before and may have to turn again when he says the word. So don't kindle too many fires with Pawson's wood--I hadn't a log to my name when I left--or it may warm somebody's else's shins besides mine,” and a merry twinkle shone in his eyes. Harry burst out laughing. “Wood or no wood, Uncle George, I'm going to be landlord now--Pawson can move out and graze his cattle somewhere else. I'm going to take charge of the hut and stock and the pack mules and provisions--and with a gun, if necessary--” and he levelled an imaginary fowling-piece with a boyish gesture.