"An' I don't s'pose you'd expect Doctor Prescott to make him a
present of it," said Jake Noyes, suddenly, from the outskirts of the
group. He had come in for the doctor's mail, and was lounging with
one great red-sealed missive and a religious newspaper in his hand.

"No," said Ozias Lamb, "I shouldn't never expect the doctor to make a
present to anybody but himself or the Lord or the meetin'-house."

A general chuckle ran over the group at that. Doctor Prescott was
regarded in the village as rather parsimonious except in those three
directions.

Jake Noyes colored angrily and stepped forward. "I ain't goin' to
hear no nonsense about Doctor Prescott," he exclaimed. "I won't stan'
it from none of ye. I give ye fair warnin'. I don't eat no man's
flapjacks an' hear him talked agin within swing of my fists if I can
help it."

The storekeeper and postmaster, Cyrus Robinson, had been leaning over
his counter between the scales and a pile of yellow soap bars,
smiling and shrewdly observant. Now he spoke, and the savor of honey
for all was in his words.

"It's fust-rate of you, Jake, to stand up for the doctor," said he.
"We all of us feel all wrought up about poor Abel. I understand the
doctor's goin' to be easy with the widder about the mortgage. I
thought likely he would be. Sometimes folks do considerable more good
than they get credit for. I shouldn't be surprised if Doctor
Prescott's left hand an' his neighbors didn't know all he did."