"Nothin', sir! Go to bed, I tell you! Will you? What are you standin'
gawpin' at?" continued Harkutt furiously.

The boy regained his feet slowly and passed his father, but not without
noticing with the same listless yet ineffaceable perception of childhood
that he was hurriedly concealing the paper in his pocket. With the same
youthful inconsequence, wondering at this more than at the interruption,
which was no novel event, he went slowly out of the room.

Harkutt listened to the retreating tread of his bare feet in the passage
and then carefully locked the door. Taking the paper from his pocket,
and borrowing the idea he had just objurgated in his son, he turned it
towards the dull glow of the stove and attempted to read it. But perhaps
lacking the patience as well as the keener sight of youth, he was forced
to relight the candle which he had left on the counter, and reperused
the paper. Yes! there was certainly no mistake! Here was the actual
description of the property which the surveyor had just indicated as
the future terminus of the new railroad, and here it was conveyed to
him--Daniel Harkutt! What was that? Somebody knocking? What did this
continual interruption mean? An odd superstitious fear now mingled with
his irritation.

The sound appeared to come from the front shutters. It suddenly
occurred to him that the light might be visible through the crevices. He
hurriedly extinguished it, and went to the door.

"Who's there?"

"Me,--Peters. Want to speak to you."