answered. "I'm Jerome Edwards," said he; "and Abel Edwards was my
father."

Eben Merritt's face changed in a minute. He looked gravely at the
boy, and nodded with understanding. "Yes, I know now," said he; "I
remember. You look like your father." Then he added, kindly, but
with a scowl of perplexity as to what the boy was standing there for,
and what he wanted: "Well, my boy, what is it? Did your mother send
you on some errand to Mrs. Merritt?"

Jerome scraped his foot, his manners at his command by this time, and
his old hat was in his hand. "No, sir," said he; "I came to see you,
sir, if you please, sir, and mother didn't send me. I came myself."

"You came to see me?"

"Yes, sir," Jerome scraped again, but his black eyes on the Squire's
face were quite fearless and steady.

Squire Eben Merritt stared at him wonderingly; then he cast an uneasy
glance at his fishing-pole, for he had come to the door with his
tackle in his hands, and he gave a wistful thought to the brooks
running through the young shadows of the spring woods, and the
greening fields, and the still trout-pools he had meant to invade
with no delay, and from which this childish visitor, bound probably
upon some foolish errand, would keep him. Then he found his own
manners, which were those of his good old family, courteous alike to
young and old, and rich and poor.

"Well, if you've come to see me, walk in, sir," cried Squire Merritt,