gambler on the Mississippi River and that he had taken part in more than
one wild adventure in the old days. After the Civil War he had come to end
his days in Caxton, living alone and occupying himself by keeping year
after year a carefully tabulated record of weather variations. Once or
twice a month during the warm season he stumbled into Wildman's and,
sitting by the stove, talked boastfully of the accuracy of his records and
the doings of a mangy dog that trotted at his heels. In his present mood
the endless sameness and uneventfulness of the man's life seemed to Sam
amusing and in some way sad.

"To depend upon going to the gate and looking at the sky to give point to
a day--to look forward to and depend upon that--what deadliness!" he
thought, and, thrusting his hand into his pocket, felt with pleasure the
letter from the Chicago company that was to open so much of the big
outside world to him.

In spite of the shock of unexpected sadness that had come with what he
felt was almost a definite parting with Freedom, and the sadness brought
on by his mother's approaching death, Sam felt a strong thrill of
confidence in his own future that made his homeward walk almost cheerful.
The thrill got from reading the letter handed him by Freedom was renewed
by the sight of old Henry Kimball at the gate, looking at the sky.

"I shall never be like that, sitting in a corner of the world watching a
mangy dog chase a ball and peering day after day at a thermometer," he
thought.

The three years in Freedom Smith's service had taught Sam not to doubt his
ability to cope with such business problems as might come in his way. He
knew that he had become what he wanted to be, a good business man, one of