"Where's your savin's?" he asked abruptly. "You were master of a coasting schooner for ten year, you say. Single man, and no bad habits, I should judge,--you'd ought to have money in the bank, young man. What have you done with it?" Calvin hung his head. "That's right!" he said. "That's so, Mr. Cheeseman. I had money in the bank. Last year I drawed it out, like a fool; somebody'd been talkin' investments to me, and I thought I could do better with it; and--well, I had it on board, and there was a feller,--well, I needn't go into that. I never thought he would have, if his mind had been quite straight. Wife died, and he warn't the same man afterwards. You can see how 'twas! He took it, and then got drownded with it in his pants pocket--or so it seemed likely--so nobody got much out of that deal. I had some part of it in another place, though, sufficient to buy me the route, and five dollars over. I put the five dollars in the bank, but it don't yield what you'd call an income precisely. So there it is, Mr. Cheeseman, and I can't see that things looks much like matrimony for little Calvin. Honest now, do you?" Mr. Cheeseman rumpled his thick hair till it gave the impression of Papa Monkey's having married a white cockatoo. He glanced at Calvin sidewise. "She has money,--" he said slowly. "And she can keep it!" said Calvin Parks. "I ain't that kind." "Just so!" said Mr. Cheeseman. "Precisely. Where are you livin' now, friend Parks?" "I'm boardin' with Widder Marlin;" said Calvin. The old man looked up sharply. "You are?" he said. "Humph! that don't seem a very likely place, 'cordin' to folks's ideas round here. Them two aren't thought specially well of by their neighbors." "That so?" said Calvin. "I guess they won't hurt me any. I sailed mate to Cap'n Marlin," he added, "and he was always good to me." "Humph!" said Mr. Cheeseman again. "I see." He rumpled his hair again, and rose to his feet. "Friend Parks," he said, slowly, "you've got to lay by, that's all there is to it; and I'm going to show you how." CHAPTER X JOHN ALDEN--WITH A DIFFERENCE Winter had come. Early December though it was, the snow lay deep and smooth over meadow and hill, and hung in fluffy masses on the branches of pine and fir. Calvin Parks had got rid of the wheels that never ceased to incommode him, and jingled along merrily on runners, both he and Hossy enjoying the change. It had become a matter of course that he should turn in at the Sills' gateway whenever he passed along their road, and he managed to pass once or twice a week. So on this crystal morning he found himself driving into the stable yard almost unconsciously. The brown horse whinnied as he clattered into the stable, and an answering whinny came from the furthest stall in the corner. "That's old John sayin' good mornin', hossy!" said Calvin. "How are you, John? Who else is to home?"