A shaggy head appeared over the clerk's shoulder, and the same rough
voice called out, "Just a minute, Mr. Bellairs; it's only a small matter
of business."

Mr. Bellairs went out, drawing the door together after him, and after a
few minutes dismissed the man, and came back.

"That fellow may give you some trouble," he said as he sat down again.

"Me? How?" asked the Doctor, surprised.

"Some years ago, Mr. Latour bought a hundred acres of wild land on
Beaver Creek. He took no trouble about it, except what he was actually
obliged; never even saw it, I believe; and about a year before his
death, this Clarkson squatted on it, built a house, married, and took
his wife to live there. Mr. Latour heard of all this by chance, and went
to see if it were true. There, he found the fellow comfortably settled,
and expecting nothing less than to be turned out. The end of the matter,
for that time, was, that Clarkson promised to pay some few dollars rent,
and was left in possession. The rent, however, never was paid. Mr.
Latour died, and when his affairs came into my hands I tried again to
get it; threatened to turn Clarkson out, and pull down his house if he
did not pay, and certainly would have done it, but for Bella, to whom I
should tell you the land belongs. Mrs. Clarkson came into town, and went
to her with such a pitiful story that she persuaded me to wait. The
consequence is that nothing has been done yet, though I believe it is
altogether misplaced kindness to listen to their excuses."

"I have no doubt it is."