"Look here, Uncle Paul," said Ben, confining the old man's arms to his
side, "it's time we had a little talk together. You'd better not do as
you say."

"You're a thief! The jail is the place for thieves."

"It isn't the place for me, and I'm not going there. Now let us come to
an understanding. You are rich and I am poor."

"Rich!" repeated Paul.

"Yes; at any rate, you have got this farm, and more money hidden away
than you will ever use. I am poor. You can spare me this money here as
well as not."

"It is all I have."

"I know better than that. You have plenty more, but I will be satisfied
with this. Remember, I am your sister's son."

"I don't care if you are," said the old man, doggedly.

"And you owe me some help. You'll never miss it. Now make up your mind
to give me this money, and I'll go away and leave you in peace."

"Never!" exclaimed Paul, struggling hard to free himself.

"You won't!"