“Yes, and I was sorry to miss you. I—I—it makes me feel awkward to tell you, but I wanted to borrow some money, and I didn’t know nobody as likely to have it as you. That woman up to your house said she knowed you wouldn’t let me have it, ’cause you hadn’t it to spare. Mebby you haven’t,” and grandpa waited anxiously for Guy’s reply. Now Mrs. Noah had a singular influence over her young master, who was in the habit of consulting her with regard to his affairs, and nothing could have been more unpropitious to the success of grandpa’s suit than knowing she disapproved. Beside this, Guy had only the previous week lost a small amount loaned under similar circumstances. Standing silent for a moment, while he buried and reburied his shining boots in the hills of sand, he said at last, “Candidly, sir, I don’t believe I can accommodate you. I am about to make repairs at Aikenside, and have partially promised to loan money on good security to a Mr. Silas Slocum, who, ‘if things work right,’ as he expresses it, intends building a mill on some property which has come, or is coming, into his hands.” “That’s mine—that’s mine, my homestead,” gasped grandpa, turning white almost as his hair blowing in the April wind. “There’s a stream of water on it, and he says if he forecloses and gets it he shall build a mill, and tear our old house down.” Guy was in a dilemma. He had not asked how much Mr. Markham wanted, and as the latter had not told him, he naturally concluded it a much larger sum than it really was, and did not care just then to lend it. “I tell you what I’ll do,” he said, after a little. “I’ll drop Slocum a note to-night saying I’ve changed my mind, and shall not let him have the money. Perhaps, then, he won’t be so anxious to foreclose, and will give you time to look among your _friends_.” Guy laid a little emphasis on that last word, and looking up quickly grandpa was about to say, “I am not so much a stranger as you think. I knew your father well;” but he checked himself with the thought, “No, that will be too much like begging pay for a deed of mercy done years ago.” So Guy never suspected that the old man before him had once laid his father under a debt of gratitude. The more he reflected the less inclined he was to lend the money, and as grandpa was too timid to urge his needs, the result was, that when at last the wheel was replaced, and Sorrel again trotted on toward Devonshire, he drew after him a sad, heavy heart, and not once until the village was reached did he hear the cheery chuckle with which his kind master was wont to encourage him. “Poor Maddy! I dread tellin’ her the most, she was so sure,” grandpa whispered, as he stopped before the office, where Maddy waited for him.