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"It is a noble life," said Lucy. "But it must be nobly lived." "That don't make no difference; you go along. I see Ann's made a mistake in doin' up Mrs. Keeler's parcels. You can't go back for a bit, anyways, so you might as well have your supper." He dropped to the sward and stepped through an unglazed window into the hut. Nailed to one end was a crude ladder. Billy climbed the ladder and peered closely at the log which held the money. To all appearances it was exactly like its fellows, no door, no latch to be seen. And still, he reasoned, there must be an opening of some kind there. He lit a match and held it close to the log. Then he whistled. What he had mistaken for a pine knot was a small button fixed, as he saw now, in a tiny groove. He moved the button and a small section of the log fell, spraying him with musty dust..

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Of course that settled it. The delegation apologized, and Caleb tapped a keg of cider and opened a box of choice biscuits just to show that there were no hard feelings. Now this in itself was surely indisputable proof of the confidence his neighbors reposed in Caleb's veracity and honesty, but considering the fact that Caleb had once quarrelled with the elder Stanhope, later refusing all overtures of friendship from the latter, and had even gone so far as to cherish the same feeling of animosity toward the son, Frank, that trust was little short of sublime. For, providing Caleb disliked Frank Stanhope—and he did and made no attempt to hide it—what would be more natural than that he should keep him from his rightful inheritance if he could? "What dye you want, boy?" Shipley's pipe was alight now and he peered down at Billy through the pungent smoke-wreaths. "No, we'll drive her home now. I guess I know what's best. Get on t'other side of her. Now then, don't let her turn back!" "I will not declare what the butcher charges!" cried Mr Greyquill, a little warmly for so sleek a man. "But take my word, the British tradesman, whether tinker, tailor,[Pg 136] butcher, baker, and we'll throw in grocer as we do not value rhymes, charges at rates which if reduced from profit to interest and called by that aggressive term discount, would represent every shopkeeper in the nation as big a scoundrel as the most voracious of your money-lenders, sir.".