"I've got a little money for you on account," said Grant, watching
Tudor's face anxiously.

"How much?" asked the storekeeper, his countenance changing.

"Eight dollars."

"Eight dollars!" ejaculated Tudor, indignantly. "Only eight dollars
out of sixty-seven! That's a regular imposition, and I don't care ef
your father is a minister, I stick to my words."

Grant was angry, but he remembered his mother's injunction to
restrain his temper.

"We'd like to pay the whole, Mr. Tudor, if we had the money, and--"

"Do you think I can trust the whole neighborhood, and only get one
dollar in ten of what's due me?" spluttered Mr. Tudor. "Ministers
ought to set a better example."

"Ministers ought to get better pay," said Grant.

"There's plenty don't get as much as your father. When do you expect
to pay the rest, I'd like to know? I s'pose you expect me to go on
trustin', and mebbe six months from now you'll pay me another eight
dollars," said the storekeeper, with withering sarcasm.

"I was going to tell you, if you hadn't interrupted me," said Grant,
"that we should probably have some more money for you to-morrow."