Phil straightened up slowly, his axe falling to the ground, an
expression of surprise appeared in his eyes.

"My mother left money--for me, you say?" he wondered.

"No, Phil, I haven't said so. I asked you if Abner had ever said
anything of the sort?"

"No. Do you think she did?"

"I'm not saying what I think. I wish I was a man; I'd read old
Abner Adams a lecture that he wouldn't forget as long as he
lives."

Phil smiled indulgently.

"He's an old man, Mrs. Cahill. He's all crippled up with
rheumatism, and maybe he's got a right to be cranky--"

"And to turn his own sister's child outdoors, eh? Not by a long
shot. Rheumatics don't give anybody any call to do any such a
thing as that. He ought to have his nose twisted, and it's me, a
good church member, as says so."

The lad picked up his axe and resumed his occupation, while Mrs.
Cahill turned up a chunk of wood and sat down on it, keeping up a
running fire of comment, mostly directed at Abner Adams, and
which must have made his ears burn.