"Yes," I continued, laughing, for I thought the best thing for Ad was to have the old Squire know the facts at once. "He paid $100 of it down, and he has to get round with nineteen hundred and fifty more by to-morrow noon."
Food was quite forgotten by this time. The old Squire, grandmother, and the girls were looking at Addison in much concern.
"Haven't you been rather rash?" the old Squire said, gravely.
"Maybe I have," Addison admitted. "But the bank has promised to lend me the money to-morrow at seven per cent. if—if,"—he hesitated and reddened visibly,—"if you will put your name on the note with me, sir."
The old Squire's face was a study. He looked surprised, grave, and stern; but his kind old heart stood the test.
"My son," he said, after a short pause, "what led you into this? You must tell me before we go farther."
"It was something I noticed over there in that wood-lot. I haven't said anything about it so far; but I think I am right."
He went upstairs to his trunk and brought down a handful of those auger chips, and also a letter that he had received recently. He spread the chips on the table by the old Squire's plate, and the latter, after a glance at them, put on his reading glasses. Dry as the chips had become, we could still see what looked like tiny bubbles and pits in the wood.
"Bird's-eye, isn't it?" the old Squire said, taking up a chip in his fingers. "Bird's-eye maple. Was there more than one tree of this?"
"More than forty, sir, that I saw myself, and I've no doubt there are others," Addison replied.