forgot his troubles a moment to speak to each, calling them by name.
It smote him to think how at times he had been tempted to sell one of
the hogs, or even to sell the cattle to clear the mortgage off the
place. Thank God, however, he had put that temptation behind him.

As he reached the house a sleigh was standing on the roadway. Anna
met him at the door. "John," she said, "there was a stranger came
while you were in the barn, and wanted a lodging for the night; a
city man, I reckon, by his clothes. I hated to refuse him, and I
put him in Willie's room. We'll never want it again, and he's gone
to sleep."

"Ay, we can't refuse."

John Enderby took out the horse to the barn, and then returned to
his vigil with Anna beside the fire.

The fumes of the buttermilk had died out of his brain. He was
thinking, as he sat there, of midnight and what it would bring.

In the room above, the man in the sealskin coat had thrown himself
down, clothes and all, upon the bed, tired with his drive.

"How it all comes back to me," he muttered as he fell asleep, "the
same old room, nothing changed--except them--how worn they look,"
and a tear started to his eyes. He thought of his leaving his home
fifteen years ago, of his struggle in the great city, of the great
idea he had conceived of making money, and of the Farm Investment
Company he had instituted--the simple system of applying the
crushing power of capital to exact the uttermost penny from the