“Oh! Henry's father?”
“Yes. He's got a son named Henry.”
“And who's the Notary Public?”
“Caleb Schell. He keeps the store just at the crossroads as you go into town.”
“I remember the store,” said Hiram, thoughtfully.
“But Hiram!” cried Mrs. Atterson, “I don't want to sell the farm.”
“We'll be sure this paper is all straight before you do sell, Mrs. Atterson.”
“Why, I just won't sell!” she exclaimed. “Uncle Jeptha never said nothing in his will about giving this option. And that lawyer says that in a couple of years the farm will be worth a good deal more than this Pepper offers.”
“Why, Mrs. Atterson!” exclaimed the real estate man, cheerfully, “as property is selling in this locality now, sixteen hundred dollars is a mighty good offer for your farm. You ask anybody. Why, Uncle Jeptha knew it was; otherwise he wouldn't have given me the option, for he didn't believe I'd come up with the price. He knew it was a high offer.”
“And if it's worth so much to you, why isn't it worth more to Mrs. Atterson to keep?” demanded Hiram, sharply.