“Maybe I have, boy; but maybe I want to change it. I had a talk with the Doctor when he came down to bleed me, and since there's to be no match between you and the girl”-- He paused, keeping his eyes on his son's face, which lengthened and grew vacant with a vague alarm. “Why, then,” he presently resumed, “_you_'re so much poorer by the amount o' her money. Would it be fair, do you think, if I was to put that much to what I might ha' meant for you before? Don't you allow you ought to have a little more, on account o' your disapp'intment? “If you think so, dad, it's all right,” said the son, relighting his pipe. “I don't know, though what Elisha'd say to it; but then, he's no right to complain, for he married full as much as I'd ha' got.” “That he did, boy; and when all's said and done, the money's my own to do with it what I please. There's no law o' the oldest takin' all. Yes, yes, I'll have to make a new will!” A serene joy diffused itself through Alfred Barton's breast. He became frank, affectionate, and confidential. “To tell you the truth, dad,” he said, “I was mighty afraid you'd play the deuce with me, because all's over between me and Martha Deane. You seemed so set on it.” “So I was--so I was,” croaked the old man, “but I've got over it since I saw the Doctor. After all I've heerd, she's not the wife for you; it's better as it is. You'd rayther have the money without her, tell the truth now, you dog, ha! ha!” “Damme, dad, you've guessed it!” Alfred cried, joining in the laugh. “She's too high-flown for me. I never fancied a woman that's ready to take you down, every other word you say; and I'll tell you now, that I hadn't much stomach for the match, at any time; but you wanted it, you know, and I've done what I could, to please you.” “You're a good boy, Alfred,--a mighty good boy.” There was nothing very amusing in this opinion, but the old man laughed over it, by fits and starts, for a long time. “Take a drop o' brandy, boy!” he said. “You may as well have my share, till I'm ready to begin ag'in.” This was the very climax of favor. Alfred arose with a broad beam of triumph on his face, filled the glass, and saying,--“Here's long life to you, dad!” turned it into his mouth. “Long life?” the old man muttered. “It's pretty long as it is,--eighty-six and over; but it may be ninety-six, or a hundred and six; who knows? Anyhow, boy, long or short, I'll make a new will.”