“How dare I?” she retorted; “why, because they’re true, as you can see for yourself. Your father’s deceived you, an’ he’s deceived me. I’ve paid out over four hundred dollars for your keep, thinkin’ there was enough in this room to pay me back. An’ now I stand to lose every penny of it, jest because I trusted to a lyin’ sea-captain.” “You won’t lose a dollar!” I cried, indignantly, while I struggled to keep back the tears of disappointment and shame that rushed to my eyes. “I’ll pay you every cent of the money, if I live.” She looked at me curiously, with a half smile upon her thin lips. “How?” she asked. “I’ll work and earn it.” “Pish! what can a boy like you earn? An’ what’s goin’ to happen while you’re earnin’ it? One thing’s certain, Sam Steele; you can’t stay here an’ live off’n a poor lone woman that’s lost four hundred dollars by you already. You’ll have to find another place.” “I’ll do that,” I said, promptly. “You can have three days to git out,” she continued, pushing me out of the room and relocking the door, although there was little reason for that. “And you can take whatever clothes you’ve got along with you. Nobody can say that Jane Ranck ain’t acted like a Christian to ye, even if she’s beat an’ defrauded out’n her just rights. But if ye should happen to earn any money, Sam, I hope you’ll remember what ye owe me.” “I will,” said I, coldly; and I meant it. To my surprise Mrs. Ranck gave a strange chuckle, which was doubtless meant for a laugh—the first I had ever known her to indulge in. It fired my indignation to such a point that I cried out: “Shame!” and seizing my cap I rushed from the house. The cottage was built upon a small hill facing the bay, and was fully a quarter of a mile distant from the edge of the village of Batteraft. From our gate the path led down hill through a little group of trees and then split in twain, one branch running down to the beach, where the shipping lay, and the other crossing the meadows to the village. Among the trees my father had built a board bench, overlooking the bay, and here I have known him to sit for hours, enjoying the beauty of the view, while the leafy trees overhead shaded him from the hot sun. It was toward this bench, a favorite resort of mine because my father loved it, that I directed my steps on leaving Mrs. Ranck. At the moment I was dazed by the amazing discovery of my impoverished condition, and this, following so suddenly upon the loss of my father, nearly overwhelmed me with despair. But I knew that prompt action on my part was necessary, for the woman had only given me three days grace, and my pride would not suffer me to remain that long in a home where my presence was declared a burden. So I would sit beneath the trees and try to decide where to go and what to do.