feel the solitude. He had his gold, and that was company enough.
A time was coming when the two must part company, for when death
should come he must leave the gold behind; but he did not like
to think of that, putting away the idea as men will unpleasant
subjects. This was the man to whom Hiram Walton applied for help
in his misfortune.

"Is the squire at home?" he asked, at the back door. In that household
the front door was never used. There was a parlor, but it had not
been opened since Mrs. Green's funeral.

"He's out to the barn," said Hannah Green, a niece of the old man,
who acted as maid of all work.

"I'll go out there."

The barn was a few rods northeast of the house, and thither Mr.
Walton directed his steps.

Entering, he found the old man engaged in some light work.

"Good morning, Squire Green."

"Good morning, Mr. Walton," returned the squire.

He was a small man, with a thin figure, and a face deep seamed
with wrinkles, more so than might have been expected in a man of
his age, for he was only just turned of sixty; but hard work, poor
and scanty food and sharp calculation, were responsible for them.