"I beg your pardon, ma'am; I was sure you was some kin--maybe an
a'nt."

No, she was not even that; but willing enough to let the old man
believe her a lady of the Remington order, she did not explain that
she was simply the housekeeper, she simply said:

"If it's Mr. Guy you want, I can tell you he is not at home, which
will save your getting out."

"Not at home, and I've come so far to see him!" grandpa exclaimed, and
in his voice there was so much genuine disappointment that Mrs. Noah
rejoined, quite kindly:

"He's gone over to Devonshire with the young lady his stepmother.
Perhaps you might tell your business to me; I know all Mr. Guy's
affairs."

"If I might come in, ma'am," he answered, meekly, as through the open
door he caught glimpses of a cheerful fire. "It's mighty chilly for
such as me." He did look cold and blue, Mrs. Noah thought, and she
bade him come in, feeling a very little contempt for the old-fashioned
camlet cloak in which his feet became entangled, and smiling inwardly
at the shrunken, faded pantaloons, betokening poverty.

"As you know all Squire Guy's affairs," grandpa said, when he was
seated before the fire, "maybe you could tell whether he would be
likely to lend a stranger three hundred dollars, and that stranger
me?"