Jerome nodded soberly. "I know father paid interest at six per cent.,
and it was sixty dollars a year, and I know it would be eighteen
dollars if it was three hundred dollars instead of a thousand. I
figured it out on my slate," he said.

"You are right," said the Squire, gravely. "Now you think that will
bring your interest down to forty-two dollars a year, and maybe you
can manage that; and if you cannot, you think that Doctor Prescott
will pay you cash down for the wood-lot?"

The boy seemed to be engaged in an arithmetical calculation. He bent
his brows, and his lips moved. "That would be over seven years'
interest money, at forty-two dollars a year, anyway," he said at
length, looking at the Squire with shrewdly innocent eyes.

Suddenly Eben Merritt burst into a great roar of laughter, and struck
the boy a kindly slap upon his small back.

"By the Lord Harry!" cried he, "you've struck a scheme worthy of the
Jews. But you need good Christians to deal with!"

Jerome started and stared at him, half anxiously, half resentfully.
"Ain't it right, sir?" he stammered.

"Oh, your scheme is right enough; no trouble about that. The question
is whether Doctor Prescott is right."

Eben Merritt burst into another roar of laughter as he arose and set
the boy on his feet. "I am not laughing at you, my boy," he said,
though Jerome's wondering, indignant eyes upon his face were, to his