once in a while a live chicken, and always a couple of turkeys at
holiday time."

"And who paid for them?" inquired Bart bluntly.

"We didn't, and no questions asked."

"I am afraid your ideas will not make much impression on my father, if
that is what you are getting at," observed Bart, turning unceremoniously
from Wacker.

"Humph! you fellows ought to run a backwoods post office," disgustedly
grunted the latter, as he made off.

Bart had only to wait ten minutes when his father appeared. Except for a
slight limp and some pallor in his face, Mr. Stirling seemed in his
prime. He had kindly eyes and was always pleasant and smiling, even when
in pain.

"Well! well!" he cried briskly, with a gratified glance at his son after
looking over the register, "all the real hard work is done, the work
that always worries me, with my poor eyesight. Come up to the paymaster,
young man! There's an advance till salary day, and well you've earned
it."

Mr. Stirling took some money from his pocket. There was a silver dollar
and some loose change. Bart looked pleased, then quite grave, and he put
his hand resolutely behind him.

"I can't take it, father," he said. "You have a hard enough time, and I