a whisper and a whistle. Gilbert took an account-book, a leaden
inkstand, and a stumpy pen from a drawer under the window, and
calculated silently and somewhat laboriously. His mother produced a
clocked stocking of blue wool, and proceeded to turn the heel.

In half an hour's time, however, Sam's whispering ceased; his head
nodded violently, and the book fell upon the hearth.

"I guess I'll go to bed," he said; and having thus conscientiously
announced his intention, he trotted up the steep back-stairs on his
hands and feet. In two minutes more, a creaking overhead announced that
the act was accomplished.

Gilbert filliped the ink out of his pen into the fire, laid it in his
book, and turned away from the table.

"Roger has bottom," he said at last, "and he's as strong as a lion. He
and Fox will make a good team, and the roads will be solid in three
days, if it don't rain."

"Why, you don't mean,"--she commenced.

"Yes, mother. You were not for buying him, I know, and you were right,
inasmuch as there is always _some_ risk. But it will make a difference
of two barrels a load, besides having a horse at home. If I plough both
for corn and oats next week,--and it will be all the better for corn, as
the field next to Carson's is heavy,--I can begin hauling the week
after, and we'll have the interest by the first of April, without
borrowing a penny."