granted that people buy wood to burn."

"_Who_ does know any thing about it?" was the sharp response.

"The sawyer, I fancy, if he can be found. I have not seen him about
to-day, however," said the young man, with a broad grin, which he
speedily changed, when his strange visitor burst out with,

"When he comes, send him to me.--My name is Stillinghast."

"Certainly, Mr. Stillinghast, certainly. Excuse me, sir, for not
recognizing you," stammered the clerk.

"I'm determined," muttered the old man, going out and slamming to the
door, without noticing the young man's apologies, "I'm determined to sift
this matter. If I had a feeling of humanity left, it was for that
girl--papist though she be; if I loved or cared a tithe for any living
being, it was she! I intended--but never mind _what_ I intended. She
has been doing wrong and I'll find it out. She has tried to deceive me,
but _I'll_ convince her that she has mistaken her dupe. Where did she
get the _money_ to buy wood with?" And at that thought, such a fierce,
sudden suspicion tore through that old, half ossified heart, that he
paused on the flags, and gasped for breath. "My God!" he murmured, "has
she robbed me?" And during the remainder of that miserable day, his
ledgers were almost neglected. Foul and ungenerous suspicion held
possession of his mind; and inflamed with a malicious anger, he plotted
and schemed his revenge until he had defined a plan that well suited his
present mood. "If she plots," he muttered, rubbing his dry, yellow hands
together, with grim delight, "I will _counter_-plot. It is not the
wrong, _but the person who inflicts it_, that stings me. But the