“I'd do the fair thing, Doctor!” he finally exclaimed; “whatever it might be, it'd be fair. Come, isn't that enough?” “In a general sense, it is. But we are talking now as neighbors. We are both old men, Friend Barton, and I think we know how to keep our own counsel. Let us suppose a case--just to illustrate the matter, thee understands. Let us say that Friend Paxson--a widower, thee knows--had a daughter Mary, who had--well, a nice little penny in her own right,--and that thy son Alfred desired her in marriage. Friend Paxson, as a prudent father, knowing his daughter's portion, both what it is and what it will be,--he would naturally wish, in Mary's interest, to know that Alfred would not be dependent on her means, but that the children they might have would inherit equally from both. Now, it strikes me that Friend Paxson would only be right in asking thee what thee would do for thy son--nay, that, to be safe, he would want to see some evidence that would hold in law. Things are so uncertain, and a wise man guardeth his own household.” The old man laughed until his watery eyes twinkled. “Friend Paxson is a mighty close and cautious one to deal with,” he said. “Mayhap he'd like to manage to have me bound, and himself go free?” “Thee's mistaken, indeed!” Dr. Deane protested. “He's not that kind of a man. He only means to do what's right, and to ask the same security from thee, which thee--I'm sure of it, Friend Barton!--would expect _him_ to furnish.” The old man began to find this illustration uncomfortable; it was altogether one-sided. Dr. Deane could shelter himself behind Friend Paxson and the imaginary daughter, but the applications came personally home to him. His old patience had been weakened by his isolation from the world, and his habits of arbitrary rule. He knew, moreover, the probable amount of Martha's fortune, and could make a shrewd guess at the Doctor's circumstances; but if the settlements were to be equal, each must give his share its highest valuation in order to secure more from the other. It was a difficult game, because these men viewed it in the light of a business transaction, and each considered that any advantage over the other would be equivalent to a pecuniary gain on his own part. “No use beatin' about the bush, Doctor,” the old man suddenly said. “You don't care for Paxson's daughter, that never was; why not put your Martha in her place. She has a good penny, I hear--five thousand, some say.” “Ten, every cent of it!” exclaimed Dr. Deane, very nearly thrown off his guard. “That is, she will have it, at twenty-five; and sooner, if she marries with my consent. But why does thee wish particularly to speak of her?” “For the same reason you talk about Alfred. He hasn't been about your house lately, I s'pose, hey?”