Uncle Nathan paused, half wondering, half shocked at the man's words.
"What! the corn that my kind neighbors have just husked? the oxen I brought up from steers? who has a right to take them?"
"There's the writ. All correct you'll find. Madam Farnham claims a right to her own, and I'm here to see that she gets it."
"Madam Farnham, my mother!" cried young Farnham, indignantly. "Knave, you slander my mother."
"You'll find it there," said the little constable, dashing the back of his dirty hand against the open writ. "Your mother, if she is your mother, authorized me to buy up all claims agin uncle Nat here and aunt Hannah, six months ago; and I've done it. Five hundred and ten dollars with costs."
"Come with me," answered the young man, sternly. "Isabel, go to the house with Salina. I will return."
He took the constable by the arm and led him out, followed by hoots and cheers from the young farmers.
Uncle Nathan stood for a moment, dumb with amazement; then he drew a deep breath and grasped his nephew's hand more firmly.
"It seems as if the Old Homestead was falling around us," he said, "but so long as a shingle is left, it shall shelter my sister Anna's son."
And he led the young man forth into the starlight.