The distance was thirty-five miles,
and the time occupied was a trifle over an hour. The two sat
together, and Luke had an opportunity of observing his companion
more closely. He was a man of middle age, dark complexion, with
keen black eyes, and the expression of one who understood the
world and was well fitted to make his way in it. He had already
given the Larkins to understand that he had been successful in
accumulating money.
As for Luke, he felt happy and contented. The tide of fortune
seemed to have turned in his favor, or rather in favor of his family.
The handsome weekly sum which would be received for the board
of Mr. Reed's little daughter would be sufficient of itself
to defray the modest expenses of their household. If he, too,
could obtain work, they would actually feel rich.
"Luke," said his companion, "does your mother own the
cottage where you live?"
"Yes, sir."
"Free of incumbrance?"
"Not quite. There is a mortgage of three hundred dollars
held by Squire Duncan. It was held by Deacon Tibbetts, but
about three months since Squire Duncan bought it."
"What could be his object in buying it?"
"I don't know, sir.
Pages:
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103