A few, of course, had taken advantage of his goodness, and loitered, and idled, and complained of their hard lot, and talked as if to work at all were a great favor to their employer. But the majority had appreciated him to the full, and given him back measure for measure, working for his interest, and serving him so faithfully, that few manufactories were as prosperous or yielded so large an income as those in Belvidere. And now these workmen stood around their late master, with their sad faces upturned, listening for what he had to say. “It is all true,” he said. “There was another will, made by my father a few months before he died.” Here a few groans for Squire Irving were heard from a knot of boys by the fence, but these were soon hushed, and Roger went on: “This will Hester Floyd saw fit to hide, because she thought it unjust, and so for years——” He did not get any further, for his voice was lost in the deafening cheers which went up from the groaning boys for _Hester Floyd_, whom they designated as a _trump_ and a _brick_, hurrahing with all their might, “Good for her. Three cheers and a tiger for Hester Floyd.” The cheers and the tiger were given, and then the boys settled again into quiet, while Roger tried to frame some reasonable excuse for what his father had done. But they would not listen to that, and those nearest him said, “It’s no use, Mr. Irving. We’ve heard the reason and we know whom to thank for this calamity, and there’s not one of us but hates her for it. We can never respect Mrs. Walter Irving.” The multitude caught the sound of that name, and the boys by the fence set up a series of most unearthly groans, which were in no wise diminished when they saw coming toward them _Frank_, the heir, and their new master, if they chose to serve him. Frank’s face was very pale, and there was something like fear and dread upon it when he met the angry glances of the crowd, and heard the groans and hisses with which they greeted him. Making his way to Roger’s side, he whispered, “Speak to them for me. They will listen to you when they would only insult me. Tell them I am not in fault.” So it was Roger who spoke for Frank, explaining matters away, and trying to make things as smooth as possible. “My nephew is not to blame,” he said. “He had nothing to do with the will. He knew nothing of it, and was as much surprised as you are when he found there was one.” “Yes, and would have burned it, too; tell them that,” Frank said, anxious to conciliate a people whose enmity he dreaded. Roger repeated the words, which were received with incredulity. “Stuff!” “Bosh!” “Can’t make me swaller that!” “Don’t believe it!” and such like expressions ran through the crowd, till, roused to a pitch of wild excitement, Frank sprang upon a box and harangued the multitude eloquently in his own defence.