“All told, it’s just six hundred and fifty dollars,” was the reply. CHAPTER V. HOT WORDS. I cannot say that my first impression of Mr. Enos Norton was a favorable one. His manner was domineering, and evidently he intended to conduct matters to suit himself. He knew nothing at all about running a mill, yet he expected to take sole charge. This, to say the least, was peculiar. His assertion that my father’s estate was indebted to him to the amount of six hundred and fifty dollars astonished and dismayed me. What had my parent done with the greater part of this? and how was I ever to settle up? The mill property as it now stood was not worth over twelve hundred dollars, and at a forced sale it was not likely that it would bring half that sum. How, then, was his claim to be met? and, when all was settled, what was to become of me? By the time I had asked myself these questions we had reached the mill. Here I introduced Ford, and the three of us entered. “Not such a good place as I expected to find,” remarked Mr. Norton, examining first one thing and then another. “You don’t seem to keep things in very good order.” “We keep them in as good order as possible. Many of the things are worn so much that they cannot be repaired,” I replied. “And it takes work to fix things up,” he added, with a hard look. I did not reply, and I saw Ford toss his head. “Well, let us go into the house part,” went on Mr. Norton. “I’m fearfully hungry. Got anything good?” “I can give you some fried fish, bread and butter, and some blackberries,” I said, as I led the way into the living-room. “Ain’t you got no coffee?” “Yes, sir.” “Then those things will do first rate. I’m fearfully hungry. Didn’t have a mouthful since this morning. Make the coffee good and strong.” “I will, Mr. Norton.” “Don’t call me Mr. Norton. I’m your Uncle Enos.” “All right, Uncle Enos; I’ll try to remember.” I went into the cook-shed, and began to prepare supper. I did not feel in good-humor, and my face must have shown it, for when Ford came in he remarked,―― “Your uncle ain’t going to play second, fiddle to nobody, is he?” I shrugged my shoulders without replying. The prospects ahead were not very bright. Presently I had to go into the living-room to get some spices out of the pantry. I found Mr. Norton in the act of taking a deep pull from a small black flask. “My blackberry brandy,” he said, by way of an explanation. “I have to take it for a weak stomach.” “Are you sickly?” I asked. “Somewhat.” I went out again; but through the crack of the door I saw him take another pull at the flask, and then put it in his pocket. This was another action that I did not like. About the Bend were a number of men who spent every cent of their money for drink, and this had led me to become strictly temperate.