parley, taken his rod and line, and gone forth to his fishing. As it
was, he waited for Jerome to proceed, merely adding that he was sorry
that his mother did not own the place clear.

The plan that the boy unfolded, clumsily but sturdily to the end, he
had thought out for himself in the darkness of the night before. The
Squire listened. "Who planned this out?" he asked, when Jerome had
finished.

"I did."

"Who helped you?"

"Nobody did."

"Nobody?"

"No, sir."

Suddenly Squire Eben Merritt seated himself in the chair which Jerome
had vacated, seized the boy, and set him upon his knee. Jerome
struggled half in wrath, half in fear, but he could not free himself
from that strong grasp. "Sit still," ordered Squire Eben. "How old
are you, my boy?"

"Goin' on twelve, sir," gasped Jerome.

"Only four years older than Lucina. Good Lord!"

The Squire's grasp tightened tenderly. The boy did not struggle